THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


Three  pairs  of  eyes  met  in  challenge 


[PAGE  84] 


THE 

TIME   SPIRIT 


A  Romantic  Tale 


BY 

J.  C.  SNAITH 

AXTTHOK  OF  "THE  COMING,"  "THE  SAILOR,"  ETC. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK  1918 


COPTBIOHT,   1918-  BY 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  In  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 


I.  THE  ARRIVAL i 

II.  AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 32 

III.  FLOWING  WATER 68 

IV.  BRIDPORT  HOUSE ,     .  87 

V.  ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 4     .  120 

VI.  PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT 149 

VII.  A  TRAGIC  COIL s ...  170 

VIII.  A  BUSY  MORNING .  186 

IX.  AN  INTERLUDE ""' 210 

X.  TIME'S  REVENGE 332 

XI.  A  BOMB 253 

XII.  ARDORS  AND  ENDURANCES 273 

XIII.  EVERYTHING  FOR  THE  BEST 293 


2138384 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 

PAGE 


Three  pairs  of  eyes  met  in  challenge  .     .     .    Frontispiece 

"How  did  you  come  by  it,  Joe?" 24 

"You  give  up  your  young  man — simply  because  of  that?"     198 

"We  mustn't  build  castles,"  she  sighed,  and  the  light 
fringed  her  eyelids 206 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  ARRIVAL 

I 

THE  fog  of  November  in  its  descent  upon  Laxton, 
one  of  London's  busiest  suburbs,  had  effaced  the 
whole  of  Beaconsfield  Villas,  including  the  Num- 
ber Five  on  the  fanlight  over  the  door  of  the  last  house 
but  two  in  the  row.  To  a  tall  girl  in  black  on  her  way 
from  the  station  this  was  a  serious  matter.  She  was 
familiar  with  the  lie  of  the  land  in  the  light  of  day 
and  in  darkness  less  than  Cimmerian,  but  this  evening1 
she  had  to  ask  a  policeman,  a  grocer's  boy,  and  a 
person  of  no  defined  status,  before  a  kid-gloved  hand 
met  the  knocker  of  her  destination. 

It  was  the  year  1890.  Those  days  are  very  distant 
now.  Victoria  the  Good  was  on  the  throne  of  Britain. 
W.G.  went  in  first  for  Gloucestershire;  Lohmann  and 
Lockwood  bowled  for  Surrey.  The  hansom  was  still 
the  gondola  of  London.  The  Tube  was  not,  and  eke 
the  motor-bus.  The  Daily  Mail  had  not  yet  invented 
Lord  Northcliffe.  Orville  Wright  had  not  made  good. 
William  Hohenzollern  used  to  come  over  to  see  hi« 
grandmother. 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


Indeed,  on  this  almost  incredibly  distant  evening  in 
the  world's  history,  his  grandmother  in  three  colors 
and  a  widow's  cap,  with  a  blue  ribbon  across  her  bosom, 
surmounted  the  sitting-room  chimney-piece  of  Number 
Five,  Beaconsfield  Villas.  And  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  over  the  dresser,  was  an  old  gentleman  with  a 
beard,  by  common  consent  the  wisest  man  in  the  realm, 
who  talked  about  "splendid  isolation,"  and  gave  Heligo- 
land to  deep,  strong,  patient  Germany  in  exchange  for 
a  tiny  strip  of  Africa. 

Yes,  there  were  giants  in  those  days.  And  no  doubt 
there  are  giants  in  these.  But  it  is  not  until  little  Miss 
Clio  trips  in  with  her  scroll  that  we  shall  know  for 
certain,  shall  we? 

At  the  first  crisp  tap  the  door  of  Number  Five 
was  flung  open. 

"Harriet,  so  here  you  are !" 

There  was  welcome  in  the  eyes  as  well  as  in  the  voice 
of  the  eager,  personable  creature  who  greeted  the  visitor. 
There  was  welcome  also  in  the  gush  of  mingled  gas  and 
firelight  from  a  cosy  within. 

"How  are  you,  Eliza?" 

The  tall  girl  asked  the  question,  shut  the  door,  and 
kissed  her  sister,  all  in  one  breath,  so  that  only  a 
minute  quantity  of  a  London  "partickler"  was  able  to 
follow  her  into  the  room. 

The  hostess  pressed  Harriet  into  a  chair,  as  near  the 
bright  fire  as  she  could  be  persuaded  to  sit. 

"What  a  night!  I  was  half  afraid  you  wouldn't 
face  it." 

"I  always  try  to  keep  a  promise."  The  quiet,  firm 

2 


THE  ARRIVAL 


voice  had  a  gravity  and  a  depth  which  made  it  sound 
years  older  than  that  of  the  elder  sister. 

"I  know  you  do — and  that's  a  lot  to  say  of  any- 
one. How's  your  health,  my  dear?  It's  very  good  to 
see  you  after  all  these  months." 

,  Chattering  all  the  time  with  the  artlessness  of  a 
nature  wholly  different  from  that  of  her  visitor,  Eliza 
Kelly  took  the  kettle  from  the  hob  and  made  the  tea. 

Beyond  a  superficial  general  likeness  there  was 
nothing  to  suggest  the  near  relationship  of  these  two. 
The  air  and  manner  which  invested  the  well-made  coat 
and  skirt,  the  lady-like  muff  and  stole,  with  a  dignity 
rather  austere,  were  not  to  be  found  in  the  unpreten- 
tious front  parlor  opening  on  to  the  street,  or  in  its 
brisk,  voluble,  easy-going  mistress. 

"Harriet,  you  are  really  all  right  again?"  Eliza  im- 
pulsively poured  out  the  tea  before  it  had  time  to  brew, 
thereby  putting  herself  to  the  trouble  of  returning  it  to 
the  pot. 

"Oh,  yes."  Harriet  removed  her  gloves  elegantly. 
She  was  quite  a  striking-looking  creature  of  nine-and- 
twenty.  In  spite  of  a  recent  illness,  she  had  an  air 
of  strength  and  virility.  The  face  and  brow  had  been 
cast  in  a  mold  of  serious  beauty,  the  eyes,  a  clear  deep 
gray,  were  strongholds  of  good  sense.  Even  without 
the  aid  of  a  considered,  rather  formidable  manner, 
this  young  woman  would  have  exacted  respect  any- 
where. 

"Take  a  muffin  while  it's  warm." 

Harriet  did  so. 

"I  had  no  idea  your  illness  was  going  to  be  so  bad/' 

The  younger  woman  would  not  own  that  her  illness 

3 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


had  been  anything  of  the  kind;  she  was  even  inclined 
to  make  light  of  it. 

"Why,  you've  been  away  weeks  and  weeks.  And 
Aunt  Annie  says  you've  had  to  have  an  operation." 

"Only  a  slight  one."  The  tone  was  casual.  "Nothing 
to  speak  of." 

"Nothing  to  speak  of!  Aunt  Annie  says  you  have 
keen  at  Brighton  I  don't  know  how  long." 

"Well,  you  know,"  said  Harriet  in  a  discreet,  rather 
charming  voice,  "they  thought  I  was  run  down  and 
that  I  ought  to  have  a  good  rest.  You  see,  the  long 
illness  of  her  Grace  was  very  trying  for  those  who  had 
to  look  after  her." 

"I  suppose  so.  Although  her  Grace  has  been  dead 
nearly  two  years.  Anyhow,  I  hope  the  Family  paid 
your  expenses."  The  elder  sister  and  prudent  house- 
wife looked  at  Harriet  keenly. 

"Everything,  even  my  railway  fare."  A  fine  note 
came  into  the  voice  of  Harriet  Sanderson. 

"Lucky  you  to  be  in  such  service,"  said  Eliza  in  a. 
tone  of  envy. 

Slowly  the  color  deepened  in  Harriet's  cheek. 

"By  the  way,  what  are  you  doing  at  Buntisford? 
Does  it  mean  you've  left  Bridport  House  for  good?" 

"It  does,  I  suppose." 

"But  I  thought  Buntisford  had  been  closed  for  years  ?" 

"His  Grace  had  it  opened  again,  so  that  he  can  go 
down  there  when  he  wants  to  be  quiet.  He  was  always 
fond  of  it.  There's  a  bit  of  rough  shooting  and  a 
river,  and  it's  within  thirty  miles  of  London ;  he  finds 
it  very  convenient.  Of  course,  it's  quite  small  and  easy 
to  manage." 

4 


THE  ARRIVAL 


"What  is  your  position  there?" 

"I'm  housekeeper,"  said  Harriet.  "That  is  to  say, 
I  manage  everything." 

The  elder  sister  looked  at  her  with  incredulity,  in 
which  a  little  awe  was  mingled.  "Housekeeper — to  the 
Duke  of  Bridport — and  you  not  yet  thirty,  Hattie. 
Gracious,  goodness,  what  next!" 

The  visitor  smiled  at  this  simplicity.  "It's  hardly 
so  grand  as  it  sounds.  The  house  doesn't  need  much 
in  the  way  of  servants;  the  Family  never  go  there. 
His  Grace  comes  down  now  and  again  for  a  week-end 
when  he  wants  to  be  alone.  Just  himself — there's  never 
anyone  else." 

"But  housekeeper !"  Eliza  was  still  incredulous.  "At 
twenty-nine!  I  call  it  wonderful." 

"Is  it  so  remarkable?"  Harriet's  calmness  seemed 
a  little  uncanny. 

"The  dad  would  have  thought  so,  had  he  lived  to  see 
it.  He  always  thought  the  world  of  the  Family." 

The  younger  sister  smiled  at  this  artlessness. 

"Every  reason  to  do  so,  no  doubt,"  she  said  with  a 
brightening  eye  and  a  rush  of  warmth  to  her  voice. 
"I  am  sure  there  couldn't  be  better  people  in  this  world 
than  the  Dinne fords." 

"That  was  the  father's  opinion,  anyway.  He  always 
said  they  knew  how  to  treat  those  who  served  them." 

"Not  a  doubt  of  that,"  said  Harriet.  "They  have 
been  more  than  good  to  me."  The  color  flowed  over 
her  face.  "And  his  Grace  often  speaks  of  the  father. 
He  says  he  was  his  right  hand  at  Ardnaleuchan,  and 
that  he  saved  him  many  a  pound  in  a  twelvemonth." 

"I  expect  he  did,"  said  Eliza,  her  own  eyes  kindling. 

5 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"He  simply  worshiped  the  Family.  Mother  used  to 
declare  that  he  would  have  sold  his  soul  for  the 
Dinnefords." 

"He  was  a  very  good  man,"  said  Harriet  simply. 

"It  would  have  been  a  proud  day  for  him,  Hattie, 
had  he  lived  to  see  you  where  you  are  now.  And  not 
yet  thirty — with  all  your  life  before  you." 

But  the  words  of  the  elder  sister  brought  a  look  of 
constraint  to  the  face  of  Harriet.  Mistaking  the  cause, 
Eliza  was  puzzled.  "And  it  won't  be  my  opinion  only," 
she  said.  "Aunt  Annie  I'm  sure  will  think  as  I  do. 
She'll  say  you've  had  a  wonderful  piece  of  luck." 

"But  the  position  does  mean  great  responsibility" — 
there  was  a  sudden  change  in  Harriet's  tone. 

Eliza  kept  her  eyes  on  the  face  of  the  younger  woman, 
that  fine  Scots  face,  so  full  of  resolution  and  character. 
"Whatever  it  may  be,  Hattie,  I'm  thinking  you'll  just 
about  be  able  to  manage  it." 

"I  mean  to  try."  Harriet  spoke  very  slowly  and 
softly.  "I  mean  to  show  myself  worthy  of  his  Grace's 
confidence." 

The  elder  sister  smiled  an  involuntary  admiration; 
there  was  such  a  calm  force  about  the  girl.  "And,  of 
course,  it  means  that  you  are  made  for  life." 

But  in  the  eyes  of  Harriet  was  a  fleck  of  anxiety. 
"Ah!  you  don't  know.  It's  a  big  position — an  awfully 
big  position." 

Eliza  agreed. 

"There  are  times  when  it  almost  frightens  me." 
Harriet  spoke  half  to  herself. 

"Everything  has  to  run  like  clockwork,  of  course," 

6 


THE  ARRIVAL 


said  the  sympathetic  Eliza.  "And  it's  bound  to  make 
the  upper  servants  at  Bridport  House  very  jealous." 

"It  may."  The  deep  tone  had  almost  an  edge  of 
disdain.  "Anyhow  it  doesn't  matter.  I  don't  go  to 
Bridport  House  now." 

"But  you  can't  tell  me,  my  dear,  that  they  like  to  hear 
of  her  Grace's  second  maid  holding  the  keys  in  the 
housekeeper's  room." 

The  calm  Harriet  smiled.  "But  it's  only  Buntisford, 
lifter  all.  You  speak  as  if  it  was  Bridport  House  or 
Ardnaleuchan." 

Eliza  shook  a  knowledgeable  head.  "They  won't  like 
it  all  the  same,  Hattie.  The  dad  wouldn't  have,  for 
one.  He  was  all  his  life  on  the  estate,  but  he  was  turned 
fifty  before  he  rose  to  be  factor  at  Ardnaleuchan." 

"Well,  Eliza" — there  was  a  force,  a  decision  in  the 
words  which  made  an  end  of  criticism — "it's  just  a 
matter  for  the  Duke.  The  place  is  not  of  my  seeking. 
I  was  asked  to  take  it — what  else  could  I  do?" 

"Don't  think  I  blame  you.  If  it's  the  wish  of  his 
Grace  there  is  no  more  to  be  said.  Still,  there's  no 
denying  you've  a  big  responsibility." 

At  these  words  a  shadow  came  into  the  resolute  eyes. 

Said  the  elder  sister  reassuringly,  "You'll  be  equal  to 
the  position,  never  fear.  That  head  of  yours  is  a  good 
one,  Hattie.  Even  Aunt  Annie  admits  that.  By  the 
way,  have  you  seen  her  lately?" 

"Seen — Aunt  Annie?"  said  Harriet  defensively.  The 
sudden  mention  of  that  name  produced  an  immediate 
change  of  tone  in  her  distinguished  niece. 

"She's  been  asking  about  you.  She  wants  very  much 
to  see  you." 

7 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


Thq  shadow  deepened  in  Harriet's  eyes.  But  a* 
instant  later  she  had  skillfully  covered  an  air  of  growing 
•onstraint  by  a  conventional  question. 

"How's  Joe,  Eliza?" 

"Pretty  much  as  usual.    He'll  be  off  duty  soon.n 

Joe  Kelly  was  Eliza's  husband,  and  a  member  of  the 
Metropolitan  police  force.  In  the  eyes  of  her  family, 
Eliza  Sanderson  had  married  beneath  her.  But  Joe,  if  a 
rough  diamond,  was  a  good  fellow,  and  Eliza  could  afford 
not  to  be  over-sensitive  on  the  score  of  public  opinion, 
Joe  had  no  superficial  graces,  it  was  as  much  as  he  could 
do  to  write  a  line  in  his  notebook,  high  rank  in  his  calling 
was  not  prophesied  by  his  best  friends,  but  his  wife 
knew  she  was  well  off.  They  had  been  married  eight 
years,  and  if  only  Providence  had  blessed  a  harmonious 
union  in  a  becoming  manner,  Eliza  Kelly  would  not 
have  found  it  in  her  heart  to  envy  the  greatest  lady  i» 
the  land.  But  Providence  had  not  done  so,  the  more 
was  the  pity. 

"By  the  way," — Eliza  suddenly  broke  a  silence — 
"there's  a  piece  of  news  for  you,  Hattie.  A  friend  is 
aoming  to  see  you  at  five." 

"A  friend — to  see  me!" 

"To  see  you,  my  dear.  In  fact,  I  might  say  an  ad- 
mirer. Can't  you  guess  who?" 

"I  certainly  can't." 

"Then  I  think  you  ought."  Mischief  had  yielded  to 
laughter  of  a  rather  quizzical  kind. 

"I  didn't  know  that  I  had  any  admirers — in  Laxton." 

The  touch  of  manner  delicately  suggested  ducal  circles. 

"You  can  have  a  husband  for  the  asking,  our  Harriet" 

8 


THE  ARRIVAL 


The  eternal  feminine  was  now  in  command  of  the  situ- 
a.tion. 

Harriet  frowned. 

"I  can't  think  who  it  can  be." 

"No?"  laughed  the  tormentress.  "You  are  not  going 
to  tell  me  you  have  forgotten  the  young  man  you  met 
the  last  time  you  were  here?" 

It  seemed  that  the  distinguished  visitor  had. 

"I  do  call  that  hard  lines,"  mocked  Eliza.  "You  have 
really  forgotten  him?" 

"I  really  have!" 

"He  has  talked  of  you  ever  since.  When  was  Miss 
Sanderson  coming  again?  Could  he  be  invited  to  meet 
her?  He  wanted  to  see  her  aboot  something  verra  im- 
poortant." 

A  light  dawned  upon  Harriet's  perplexity. 

"Surely  you  don't  mean — you  don't  mean  that  red- 
headed young  policeman ?" 

"Dugald  Maclean.  Of  course,  I  do.  He  has  invited 
himself  to  meet  you  at  five  o'clock."  Eliza  sat  back  in 
her  chair  and  laughed  at  the  face  of  Harriet,  but  the 
face  of  Harriet  showed  it  was  hardly  a  laughing  matter. 

"Well!"  she  cried.  Her  eyes  were  smiling,  yet  they 
could  not  veil  their  look  of  deep  annoyance. 

"Now,  Hattie,"  admonished  the  voice  of  maternal 
wisdom,  "there's  no  need  to  take  offense.  Don't  forget 
you  are  twenty-nine,  Dugald  Maclean  is  a  smart  young 
man,  and  Joe  says  he'll  make  his  way  in  the  world. 
Of  course,  you  hold  a  very  high  position  now,  but  if 
you  don't  want  to  find  yourself  on  the  shelf  it's  time 
you  began  to  think  very  seriously  about  a  husband." 

"We  will  change  the  subject,  if  you  don't  mind." 

9 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


The  tone  revealed  a  wide  gulf  between  the  outlook  of 
Eliza  Kelly  and  that  of  a  confidential  retainer  in  the 
household  of  the  Duke  of  Bridport. 

"Very  well,  my  dear.  But  don't  bite.  Have  the  last 
piece  of  muffin.  And  then  I'll  toast  another  for  Con- 
stable Maclean." 

II 

The  clock  on  the  chimney-piece  struck  five.  Before 
its  last  echo  had  died  there  came  a  loud  knock  on  the 
front  door. 

Constable  Maclean  was  a  ruddy  young  Scotsman.  He 
was  tall,  lean,  large-boned,  with  prominent  teeth  and 
ears.  Although  freckled  like  a  turkey's  egg,  he  was  not 
a  bad-looking  fellow.  His  boots,  however,  took  up  a 
lot  of  space  in  a  small  room,  and  the  manner  of  his 
entrance  suggested  that  the  difficult  operation  known  as 
"falling  over  oneself"  was  in  the  act  of  consummation. 
But  there  was  an  intense  earnestness  in  his  manner,  and 
a  personal  force  in  his  look,  which  gave  a  redeeming 
grace  of  character  to  a  shy  awkwardness,  verging  on 
the  grotesque. 

"Good  afternune,"  said  Constable  Maclean,  removing 
his  helmet  with  a  polite  grimace. 

One  of  the  ladies  shook  hands,  the  other  welcomed 
the  young  man  with  a  cordial  good-evening  and  bade  him 
sit  down.  Constable  Maclean,  encumbered  with  a 
regulation  overcoat,  sat  down  rather  like  a  performing 
bear. 

At  first  conversation  languished.  Yet  no  welcome 
could  have  been  more  cordial  than  Eliza's.  She  felt  like 
a  mother  to  this  young  man.  It  was  her  nature  to  feel 

10 


THE  ARRIVAL 


like  a  mother  to  every  young  man.  Moreover,  Dugald 
Maclean,  as  he  sat  perspiring  with  nervousness  on  the 
edge  of  a  chair  much  too  small  for  him,  seemed  to  need 
some  large-hearted  woman  to  feel  like  a  mother  towards 
him. 

Miss  Harriet  Sanderson  was  to  blame,  no  doubt,  for 
the  young  policeman's  aphasia.  Her  coolness  and  ease, 
with  a  half  quizzical,  half  ironical  look  surmounting  it, 
seemed  to  increase  the  bashfulness  of  Dugald  Maclean 
whenever  he  ventured  to  look  at  her  out  of  the  tail  of 
his  eye. 

It  was  clear  that  the  young  man  was  suffering  acutely. 
Nature  had  intended  him  to  be  expansive — not  in  the 
Sassenach  sense  perhaps, — but  given  the  time  and  the 
place  and  a  right  conjunction  of  the  planets,  Dugald 
Maclean  had  social  gifts,  at  least  they  were  so  assessed 
at  Carrickmachree  in  his  native  Caledonia.  Moreover, 
he  was  rather  proud  of  them.  He  was  an  ambitious 
and  gifted  young  police  officer.  For  many  moons  he 
had  been  looking  forward  to  this  romantic  hour.  Since 
a  first  chance  meeting  with  the  semi-divine  Miss 
Sanderson  he  had  been  living  in  the  hope  of  a  second, 
yet  now  by  the  courtesy  of  Providence  it  was  granted 
to  him  he  might  never  have  seen  a  woman  before. 

The  lips  of  Constable  Maclean  were  dry,  his  tongue 
clove  to  the  roof  of  an  amazingly  capacious  mouth.  As 
for  Miss  Sanderson,  mere  silence  began  to  achieve 
wonders  in  the  way  of  gentle,  smiling  irony.  But  the 
hostess  was  more  humane.  For  one  thing  she  was  mar- 
ried, and  although  Fate  had  been  cruel,  she  had  a  sacred 
instinct  which  made  her  regard  every  young  man  as  a 
boy  of  her  own. 

II 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


Every  moment  the  situation  became  more  delicate, 
but  Eliza's  handling  of  it  was  superb.  She  brewed  a 
fresh  cup  of  tea  for  Constable  Maclean,  and  then  plied 
the  toasting-fork  to  such  purpose  that  the  young  man 
became  so  busy  devouring  muffins  that  for  a  time  he 
forgot  his  sha-me.  Eliza  could  toast  and  butter  a  muffin 
with  anyone,  Constable  Maclean  could  eat  a  muffin  with 
anyone — thus  things  began  to  go  better.  And  when, 
without  turning  a  hair,  the  young  man  entered  upon  his 
third  muffin,  Miss  Sanderson  dramatically  unbent. 

"Allow  me  to  give  you  another  cup  of  tea."  The 
yoice  was  melody. 

A  succession  of  guttural  noises,  which  might  be  in- 
terpreted as  "Thank  ye  kindly,  miss,"  having  come 
apparently  from  the  boots  of  Constable  Maclean,  Miss 
Harriet  Sanderson  handed  him  a  second  cup  of  tea. 

Still,  the  conversation  did  not  prosper.  But  the  per- 
fect hostess,  kneeling  before  the  fire  in  order  to  toast 
muffin  the  fifth,  had  still  her  best  card  to  play.  It  was 
the  ace  of  trumps,  in  fact,  and  when  she  rose  to  spread 
butter  over  a  sizzling,  delicious,  corrugated  surface,  she 
decided  that  the  time  had  come  to  make  use  of  it. 

Perhaps  the  factor  in  the  situation  which  moved  her 
to  this  step  was  that  only  one  muffin  now  remained  for 
her  husband  when  he  came  off  duty  half-an-hour  hence, 
and  that  his  young  colleague  of  the  X  Division  seemed 
ready  to  go  on  devouring  them  until  the  crack  of  doom. 

"That  reminds  me,"  Eliza  suddenly  remarked  as  she 
cut  the  fifth  muffin  in  half,  "I  promised  Mrs.  Norris  I 
would  go  across  after  tea  to  have  a  look  at  her  latest." 

"You  are  not  going  out,  Eliza,  such  a  night  as  this?" 
said  Harriet  in  a  voice  of  consternation. 

12 


THE  ARRIVAL 


"A  promise  is  a  promise,  my  dear,  you  know  that 
Mrs.  Norris  has  just  had  her  sixth — the  sweetest  little 
boy.  Some  people  have  all  the  luck." 

"But  the  fog — you  can't  see  a  yard  in  front  of  you !" 
"It's  only  just  across  the  street,  my  dear." 

in 

As  soon  as  Eliza,  hatted  and  cloaked,  had  gone  to 
see  Mrs.  Norris's  latest,  a  change  came  over  Constable 
Maclean.  He  was  a  young  man  of  big  ideas.  But  all 
that  they  had  done  for  him  so  far  was  to  turn  life  into 
a  tragedy.  By  nature  fiercely  sensitive,  the  shyness 
which  made  his  life  a  burden  had  a  trick  of  crystallizing 
at  the  most  inconvenient  moments  into-  a  kind  of  dumb 
madness.  A  crisis  of  this  kind  was  upon  him  now. 
Yet  he  had  a  will  of  iron.  And  in  order  to  keep  faith 
with  the  highest  law  of  his  being  that  will  was  always 
forcing  him  to  do  things,  and  say  things,  which  people 
who  did  not  happen  to  be  Dugald  Maclean  could  only 
regard  as  perfectly  amazing. 

His  acquaintance  with  Miss  Sanderson  was  yery 
slight.  They  came  from  neighboring  villages  in  their 
native  Scotland ;  many  times  he  had  gazed  from  afar  on 
his  beautiful  compatriot,  but  only  once  before  could  he 
really  be  said  to  have  met  her.  That  was  months  ago, 
in  that  very  room,  when  he  had  been  but  a  few  days  in 
London.  Since  then  a  very  ambitious  young  man  had 
thought  about  her  a  great  deal.  The  force  and  charm 
of  her  personality  had  cast  a  spell  upon  him;  this  was 
a  demonic  woman  if  ever  there  was  one ;  he  had  hardly 
guessed  that  such  creatures  existed.  It  would  be  wrong 
to  say  that  he  was  in  love  with  her;  his  passion  was 

13 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


centered  upon  ideas  and  not  upon  people;  yet  Harriet 
Sanderson  was  already  marked  in  the  catalogue  as  the 
property  of  Dugald  Maclean. 

"Do  you  like  vairse?"  inquired  the  young  man,  with 
an  abruptness  which  startled  her. 

The  unexpected  question  was  far  from  the  present 
plane  of  her  thoughts,  but  it  was  answered  to  the  best 
of  her  ability. 

"Yes,  I  like  it  very  much,"  she  said,  tactfully. 

"I'm  gled."  Constable  Maclean  unbuttoned  his  great 
coat 

Somewhere  in  the  mind  of  Harriet  lurked  the  roman- 
tic hope  that  this  remarkable  young  man  was  about  to 
produce  a  hare  or  a  rabbit  after  the  manner  of  a  wonder- 
worker at  the  Egyptian  Hall.  But  in  this  she  was  disap- 
pointed. He  simply  took  forth  from  an  inner  pocket 
of  his  tunic  several  sheets  of  neatly-folded  white  foolscap, 
and  handed  them  to  Miss  Sanderson  without  a  word.  He 
then  folded  his  arms  Napoleonically  and  watched  the 
force  of  their  impact  upon  her. 

"You  wish  me  to  read  this?"  she  asked,  after  a  brief 
but  sharp  mingling  of  confusion  and  surprise. 

The  young  man  nodded. 

With  fingers  that  trembled  a  little,  she  unrolled  the 
sheets  of  a  fair,  well-written  copy  of  "Urban  Love,  a 
trilogy." 

She  read  the  poem  line  by  line,  ninety-six  in  all,  with 
the  face  of  a  sphinx. 

"What  do  ye  think  o'  it,  Miss  Sanderrson?"  There 
-was  a  slight  tremor  in  the  voice  of  the  author.  The 
silence  which  had  followed  the  reading  of  "Urban  Love, 


THE  ARRIVAL 


a  trilogy"  had  proved  a  little  too  much,  even  for  that  will 
of  iron. 

"It  is  very  nice,  if  I  may  say  so,  very  nice  indeed,"  said 
Miss  Sanderson  cautiously. 

"I'll  be  doin'  better  than  that,  I'm  thinkin'."  A  cer- 
tain rigidity  came  into  the  voice  of  the  author  of  the 
poem.  The  word  "nice,"  was  almost  an  affront;  it  had 
come  upon  his  ear  like  a  false  quantity  upon  that  of  a 
classical  scholar. 

"Did  you  really  do  it  all  by  yourself?"  The  inquiry 
was  due  less  to  the  performance,  which  Harriet  was 
quite  unable  to  judge,  than  to  the  author's  almost  ter- 
rible concentration  of  manner,  which  clearly  implied 
that  it  would  not  do  to  take  such  an  achievement  for 
granted. 

"Every  worrd,  Miss  Sanderrson.     Except " 

"Except  what,  Mr.  Maclean?" 

"Mr.  Lonie,  the  Presbyterian  Minister,  helped  me  a 
bit  wi'  the  scansion." 

"If  I  may  say  so,  I  think  it  is  remarkably  clever." 

It  appeared,  however,  that  these  pages  were  only  the 
opening  stanzas  of  a  poem  which  was  meant  to  have 
many.  They  were  still  in  the  limbo  of  time,  behind 
the  high  forehead  of  the  author,  but  upon  a  day  they 
would  burst  inevitably  upon  an  astonished  world. 
Would  Miss  Sanderson  accept  the  dedication? 

Miss  Sanderson,  blushing  a  little  from  acute  surprise, 
said  that  nothing  would  give  her  greater  pleasure.  She 
was  amazed,  she  wanted  to  laugh,  but  the  intense,  almost 
truculent  earnestness  of  the  young  man  had  put  an 
enchantment  upon  her. 

But  all  this  was  simply  a  prelude  to  the  great  drama 

IS 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


of  the  emotions  which  Constable  Maclean  had  now  to 
unfold.  He  had  broken  the  ice  with  the  charmer.  The 
butterfly  was  pinned  down  with  "Urban  Love,  a  trilogy," 
through  its  breast.  Miss  Sanderson  had  never  had  time 
for  reading,  therefore  she  was  in  nowise  literary.  Thus, 
perhaps,  it  was  less  the  merit  of  the  work  itself,  which 
must  be  left  to  the  judgment  of  scholars,  than  the  force, 
the  audacity,  the  driving-power  of  its  author  which 
seemed  almost  to  deliver  her  captive  into  his  hands. 

She,  it  seemed,  was  its  onlie  true  begetter.  The  poem 
was  in  her  honor.  Heroica,  calm  and  fair,  was  the  pro- 
tagonist of  "Urban  Love,  a  trilogy,"  and  she  was  Heroica. 
The  position  was  none  of  her  seeking,  but  it  carried  with 
it  grave  responsibilities. 

In  the  first  place  it  exposed  her  to  an  offer  of  mar- 
riage. "Urban  Love,  a  trilogy,"  had  broken  so  much 
of  the  ice  that  Dugald  Maclean  plunged  horse,  foot  and 
artillery  through  the  hole  it  had  made.  At  the  moment 
he  could  not  lead  Heroica  to  the  altar;  it  would  hardly 
be  prudent  for  a  young  constable  of  eight  months'  stand- 
ing to  offer  to  do  so,  but  he  sincerely  hoped  that  she 
would  promise  to  wait  for  him. 

Galled  by  the  spur  of  ambition,  Dugald  Maclean  took 
the  whole  plunge  where  smaller  men  would  have  been 
content  merely  to  try  the  depth  of  the  water. 

Miss  Sanderson  was  frozen  with  astonishment.  It  was 
true  that  "Urban  Love,  a  trilogy,"  had  half  prepared 
her  for  a  declaration  in  form,  but  she  had  not  foreseen 
the  swiftness  of  the  onset.  This  was  her  first  experi- 
ence of  the  kind,  but  she  was  a  woman  of  the  world  and 
she  gathered  her  dignity  about  her  like  a  garment. 

"Ye're  no  offendit,  Miss  Sanderrson?"  There  was 

16 


THE  ARRIVAL 


something  titanic  in  the  slow  mustering  of  his  forces  to 
break  an  arid  pause. 

"I  am  not  off  ended,  Mr.  Maclean."  The  tone  of  Miss 
Sanderson  said  she  was  offended  a  little.  "But  I  do 
think " 

"What  do  ye  think,  Miss  Sanderrson  ?"  The  naivete 
of  the  young  man  provoked  a  sharp  intake  of  breath. 

"I  think,  Mr.  Maclean" — the  candor  of  Miss  Sanderson 
was  deliberate  but  not  unkind — "if  I  were  you,  before  I 
offered  to  marry  anybody,  I  should  try  seriously  to 
better  myself." 

The  words,  pregnant  and  uncompromising,  were 
masked  by  a  tone  so  deep  and  calm  that  a  first-rate  intel- 
lect was  able  to  treat  them  on  their  merits.  In  spite 
of  a  flirtation  with  the  Muses,  this  young  man  was  a 
remarkable  combination  of  wild  audacity  and  extreme 
shrewdness.  He  had  a  power  of  mind  which  enabled 
him  to  distinguish  the  false  from  the  true.  Thus  he 
saw  at  once,  without  resentment  or  pique,  that  the  advice 
of  Heroica  was  that  of  a  friend. 

She  had  a  strong  desire  to  box  the  ears  of  this  rawboned 
young  policeman  for  his  impertinence;  but  at  heart  this 
was  a  real  woman,  and  the  dynamic  forces  of  her  sex 
were  strong  in  her.  It  was  hard  to  keep  from  laughing 
in  the  face  of  this  young  man  in  a  hurry,  who  rushed 
his  fences  in  a  way  that  was  simply  grotesque;  yet  she 
could  not  help  admiring  the  power  within  him,  and  she 
wished  him  well. 

"It's  gude  advice,  Miss  Sanderrson."  His  tone  of 
detachment  drew  a  ripple  from  lips  that  laughed  very 
seldom.  "I'm  thinkin'  I'll  talc*  it  But  ye'll  bear  the 
matter  in  mind  ?" 

17 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"I  make  no  rash  promises,  Mr.   Maclean." 

"Well,  if  ye  won't,  ye  won't.  But  I'm  thinkin'  I'd 
work  the  better  at  the  Latin  if  I  could  count  on  ye." 

"Studying  Latin,  are  you,  Mr.  Maclean?"  The  sur- 
prise of  Miss  Sanderson  was  rather  respectful. 

"Mr.  Lonie  is  learnin'  me,"  said  the  young  man,  with 
a  slight  touch  of  vainglory.  "And  I'm  thinkin'  he'll 
verra  soon  be  learnin'  me  the  Greek." 

"Are  you  going  to  college  ?" 

"Maybe  ay.  Maybe  no.  You  never  can  tell  where 
a  pairson  may  get  to.  Anyhow  I'm  learnin'  to  speak  the 
language.  Ae  day  I'll  be  as  gude  at  the  Saxon  as  you 
and  your  sister  have  become,  Miss  Sanderrson." 

It  was  hard  not  to  smile,  yet  she  knew  her  countrymen 
too  well  to  treat  such  a  matter  lightly. 

"And  I've  a'ready  set  aboot  writin'  for  the  papers." 

"Begun  already  to  write  for  the  papers,  have  you,  Mr. 
Maclean?"  This  was  not  a  young  man  to  smile  at 
"Well,  wherever  you  may  get  to,"  Miss  Sanderson's  tone 
was  softer  than  any  she  had  yet  used,  "I  am  sure  I 
wish  you  well." 

"Thank  ye,"  said  the  young  man  dryly.  "But  why 
not  gie  a  pairson  a  helping  hand?" 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  like  you  well  enough."  Such 
candor  was  extorted  by  the  seriousness  with  which  she 
was  now  having  to  treat  him.  "You  see,  Mr.  Maclean, 
it  is  all  so  sudden.  We  have  only  met  once  before." 

"May  I  hope,  Miss  Sanderrson  ?" 

Suddenly  he  moved  his  chair  towards  her  and  took 
her  hand. 

"Mr.  Maclean,  you  may  not."  The  hand  was  with- 
drawn firmly. 

18 


THE  ARRIVAL 


"Well,  think  it  owre,  Miss  Sanderrson." 
The  young  man  moved  back  his  chair  to  its  first  posi- 
tion in  order  to  restore  the  status  quo. 

Harriet  shook  her  head.  And  then  all  at  once,  to  the 
deep  consternation  of  Constable  Maclean,  she  broke  into 
an  anguish  of  laughter,  which  good  manners,  try  as  they 
might,  were  not  able  to  control. 

IV 

In  the  midst  of  this  unseemly  behavior  on  the  part 
of  Miss  Sanderson,  the  door  next  the  street  was  flung 
open  with  violence.  A  figure  Homeric  of  aspect  emerged 
from  the  night. 

It  was  that  of  Constable  Joseph  Kelly,  of  the  Metro- 
politan Police ;  an  ornament  of  the  X  Division,  a  splendid 
man  to  look  at,  nearly  six  feet  high.  Broad  of  girth, 
proportioned  finely,  his  helmet  crowned  him  like  a  hero 
of  old.  His  face,  richly  tinted  by  daily  and  nightly 
exposure  to  the  remarkable  climate  of  London,  was  the 
color  of  a  ripe  apple,  and  there  presided  in  it  the  almost 
god-like  good-humor  of  the  race  to  which  he  belonged. 

This  emblem  of  superb  manhood  was  laden  heavily. 
There  was  his  long  overcoat,  a  tremendous,  swelling 
affair;  there  was  his  furled  oilskin  cape;  at  one  side  of 
his  girdle  was  his  truncheon-case,  his  lamp  at  the  other 
side  of  it;  in  his  left  hand  was  a  modest  basket  which 
had  contained  his  dinner,  and  in  his  right  was  a  larger 
wicker  arrangement  which  might  have  contained  any- 
thing. 

"Is  that  our  Harriet?"  said  Constable  Kelly,  in  the  act 
of  closing  the  door  deftly  with  his  heel.  "Good  evening, 
gal.  Pleased  to  see  you." 

19 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


He  set  down  the  large  basket  on  the  floor  in  a  rather 
gingerly  manner,  placed  the  small  one  on  the  table,  came 
to  Harriet,  kissed  her  audibly,  and  then  turned  to  the 
room's  second  occupant  with  an  air  of  surprise. 

"Hello,  Scotchie!    What  are  you  doing  here?" 

Before  Dugald  Maclean  could  answer  the  question  he 
was  in  the  throes  of  a  second  attack  of  dumb  madness. 
This  malady  made  his  life  a  burden.  When  only  one 
person  was  by  he  seldom  had  difficulty  in  expressing 
himself,  but  any  addition  to  the  company  was  apt  to 
plunge  him  into  hopeless  defeat. 

"Up  to  no  good,  I  expect."  Joseph  Kelly,  disapproval 
in  his  eyes,  answered  his  own  question,  since  other  answer 
there  was  none.  "I  never  see  such  a  feller.  Been 
mashing  you,  Harriet,  by  the  look  of  him." 

It  was  a  bow  drawn  at  a  venture  by  a  shrewd  colleague 
of  the  X  Division.  An  immediate  effusion  of  rose  pink 
to  the  young  man's  freckled  countenance  was  full  of 
information  for  a  close  observer. 

"Durn  me  if  he  hasn't !"  Gargantuan  laughter  rose  to 
the  ceiling. 

Harriet  blushed.  But  the  look  in  her  face  was  not 
discomfiture  merely.  There  was  plain  annoyance  and  a 
look  of  rather  startled  anxiety  for  which  the  circum- 
stances could  hardly  account. 

"Scotchie,  you're  a  nonesuch."  But  Joe  suddenly 
lowered  his  voice  in  answer  to  the  alarm  in  the  face  of 
his  sister-in-law.  "You  are  the  limit,  my  lad.  Do  you 
know  what  he  did  last  week,  Harriet?  I'll  tell  you." 

"Let  me  make  you  a  cup  of  tea,  Joe."  And  his  sister- 
in-law,  who  seemed  oddly  agitated  by  his  arrival,  rose 
in  the  humane  hope  of  diverting  the  attack. 

20 


THE  ARRIVAL 


But  the  story  was  too  good  to  remain  untold. 

"It'll  take  the  X  Division  twenty  years  to  live  it  down." 
Kelly  throbbed  and  gurgled  like  a  donkey-engine  as  he 
fixed  his  youthful  colleague  with  a  somber  eye.  "This 
young  feller,  what  do  you  think  he  did  last  week  ?" 

"The  kettle  will  soon  boil,  Joe." 

"Harriet !" — the  rich  rolling  voice  thrilled  dramatically 
—"about  midnight,  last  Monday  week  as  ever  was,  this 
smart  young  officer  saw  an  old  party  in  an  eyeglass  and 
a  topper  and  a  bit  o'  fur  round  his  overcoat,  standin'  on 
the  curb  at  Piccadilly  Circus.  He  strolls  up,  taps  him 
on  the  shoulder,  charges  him  with  loitering  with  intent 
and  runs  him  in." 

"Here's  your  tea,  Joe."    The  voice  was  sweetly  polite. 

"And  who  do  you  think  the  old  party  was,  my  gal? 
Only  a  Director  of  the  Bank  of  England — that's  all. 
The  rest  of  the  Force  is  guying  us  proper.  They  want 
to  know  when  we  are  going  to  lock  up  the  Governor." 

"Joe,  your  tea!" 

"We'll  never  get  over  it,  gal,  not  in  my  time. 
Scotchie,  you  are  too  ambitious.  There  isn't  scope  for 
your  abilities  in  the  Metropolitan  Force.  Turn  your 
attention  to  some  other  branch  of  the  law.  You  ought 
to  take  chambers  in  the  Temple,  you  ought,  my  lad." 

But  in  answer  to  the  look  in  the  eyes  of  Harriet,  her 
brother-in-law  checked  the  laugh  that  rose  again  to  his 
lips.  There  was  a  strange  anxiety  upon  her  face,  an 
anxiety  that  was  now  in  some  way  communicated  to  him. 
It  was  clear  from  the  glances  they  exchanged  and  the 
silence  that  ensued,  that  both  were  much  embarrassed  by 
the  presence  of  Maclean. 

However,  after  the  young  man  had  entered  upon  a 

21 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


struggle  for  words  with  which  to  meet  this  persiflage  and 
they  had  refused  to  come  forth,  he  suddenly  noticed  that 
the  hands  of  the  clock  showed  a  quarter  to  six  and  he 
rose  determinedly. 

"Yes,  it's  time  you  went  on  duty,"  said  the  sardonic 
Kelly  with  an  air  of  relief. 

Constable  Maclean,  feeling  much  was  at  stake,  made 
a  great  effort  to  achieve  a  dignified  exit.  He  was  an  odd 
combination  of  the  thick-skinned  and  the  hypersensitive. 
At  this  moment  the  shattering  wit  of  his  peer  of  the  X 
Division  made  him  wish  he  had  never  been  born,  but  he 
was  too  dour  a  fighter  to  take  it  lying  down. 

"Gude-nicht,  Miss  Sanderrson."  With  one  more 
grimace  he  offered  a  hand  not  indelicately. 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Maclean."  The  tone  of  studied 
kindness  was  a  salve  for  his  wounds.  The  effrontery 
of  this  young  man  did  not  call  for  pity.  And  yet  it  was 
his  to  receive  it  from  the  sterling  heart  of  a  true 
woman. 

The  smile,  the  arch  glance,  the  ready  handshake  did 
so  much  to  restore  Dugald  Maclean  in  his  own  esteem, 
that  he  was  able  to  retire  with  even  a  touch  of  swagger, 
which  somehow,  in  spite  of  an  awkwardness  almost 
comically  ursine,  sat  uncommonly  well  on  such  a  dashing 
young  policeman. 

Indeed,  the  exit  of  Constable  Maclean  came  very  near 
the  point  of  bravado.  For  as  he  passed  the  large  wicker 
basket  which  Kelly  had  placed  on  the  floor,  the  young 
man  turned  audaciously  upon  his  tormentor.  Said  he 
with  a  grin  of  sheer  defiance : 

"What  hae  ye  gotten  i'  the  basket,  Joe?" 

"Never  you  mind.     'Op  it." 

22 


THE  ARRIVAL 


Less  out  of  natural  curiosity,  which  however  was 
very  great,  than  a  desire  to  show  all  whom  it  might 
concern  that  he  was  again  his  own  man,  Dugald  Maclean 
laid  his  hand  on  the  lid  of  the  basket. 

"What  hae  ye  gotten,  Joe?      Rabbuts?" 

"If  you  must  know,  it's  a  young  spannil."  The 
answer  came  with  rather  truculent  hesitation. 

"A  young  spannil,  eh?     I'm  thinkin'  I'll  hae  a  look." 

"Be  off  about  your  duty,  my  lad."  Joe  began  to  look 
threatening. 

"Juist  a  speir." 

"  'Op  it,  I  tell  you." 

But  in  open  defiance,  Dugald  Maclean  had  already 
begun  to  untie  the  string  which  held  the  lid  of  the  basket 
in  place.  The  majestic  Kelly  rose  from  his  tea.  With- 
out further  words  he  seized  the  young  man  firmly  from 
behind  by  the  collar  of  his  coat.  And  then  he  hustled 
him  as  far  as  the  door  in  a  very  efficient  professional 
manner,  straight  into  the  arms  of  Eliza,  who  at  that 
moment  was  in  the  act  of  entering  it 


At  the  open  door  there  was  a  brief  scurry  of  laughter 
and  protest  which  ended  in  a  riot  of  confusion.  And 
then  happened  an  odd  thing.  But  of  the  three  persons 
struggling  upon  the  threshold  of  Number  Five  only  one 
was  aware  of  it,  and  he  had  the  wit  to  raise  a  great  voice 
to  its  highest  pitch  in  order  to  conceal  a  fact  so  remark- 
able. 

"For  heaven's  sake  hold  your  noise,  Joe,  else  you'll 
frighten  the  neighbors,"  said  Eliza,  getting  in  it  at  last 

23 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


and  indulging  in  suppressed  shrieks  at  the  manner  of 
Dugald  Maclean's  putting  out. 

An  instant  later,  the  young  policeman  was  in  the  street 
and  the  door  of  Number  Five,  Beaconsfield  Villas,  had 
closed  upon  him.  But  his  singular  exit  was  merely  the 
prelude  to  an  incident  far  more  amazing. 

In  the  uproar  of  Joe  had  been  fell  design.  As  soon 
as  it  ceased  the  reason  for  it  grew  apparent.  An  incred- 
ible sound  was  filling  the  room, 

"Whatever's  that!"  Eliza  almost  shrieked  in  sheer 
wonderment. 

Harriet's  behavior  was  different.  For  a  moment  sb« 
was  spellbound.  The  look  in  her  eyes  verged  upon 
horror. 

It  seemed  that  a  child  was  crying  lustily. 

"Wherever  can  it  be !"  cried  the  frantic  Eliza. 

A  wild  glance  round  the  room  told  Eliza  that  there 
was  only  one  place  in  which  it  could  be.  Her  eyes  fell 
at  once  on  the  large  wicker  basket,  which  had  been  set 
on  the  floor  near  the  fire. 

"Well,  in  all  my  born  days !" 

She  rushed  to  the  basket  and  began  furiously  to  untie 
the  lid.  But  the  maxim  "the  more  haste  the  less  speed" 
was  as  true  in  1890  as  it  is  today.  Eliza's  fingers  merely 
served  to  double  and  treble  knot  the  string. 

Uncannily  calm,  Harriet  rose  from  the  table,  the  bread 
knife  in  her  hand.  In  silence  she  knelt  by  the  hearth 
and  cut  the  knot.  The  deliberation  of  her  movements 
was  in  odd  contrast  to  Eliza's  frenzy. 

The  lid  was  off  the  basket  in  a  trice.  And  the  sight 
within  further  emphasized  the  diverse  bearing  of  the 
two  women.  Harriet  rose  a  statue;  Eliza  knelt  in  an 

24 


"How  did  you  come  by  it,  Joe?' 


THE  ARRIVAL 


ecstasy.  One  seemed  to  gloat  over  the  sight  that  met 
her  eyes ;  the  other,  with  the  gaze  of  Jocasta,  stood  turned 
to  stone. 

It  was  the  sweetest  little  baby.  In  every  detail  immac- 
ulate, bright  as  a  new  pin,  its  long  clothes  were  of  a  fine 
quality,  and  it  was  wrapped  in  a  number  of  shawls.  A 
hot-water  bottle  was  under  its  tiny  toes,  and  a  bottle  of 
milk  by  its  side. 

Eliza's  first  act  was  to  take  the  creature  out  of  its 
receptacle.  And  then  began  the  business  of  soothing  it. 
Near  the  fire  was  a  large  rocking-chair,  made  for  mother- 
hood, and  here  sat  Eliza,  the  foundling  upon  her  knee. 
Evidently  it  had  a  charming  disposition.  For  in  two 
shakes  of  a  duck's  tail  it  was  taking  its  milk  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.  Yet  the  calm,  tense  Harriet  had  a  little 
to  do  with  that.  The  milk  was  her  happy  thought. 
Moreover,  she  tested  its  quality  and  temperature  with 
quite  an  air  of  experience.  And  the  effect  of  the  milk 
was  magical. 

As  soon  as  sheer  astonishment  and  the  cares  of 
motherhood  would  permit,  a  number  of  searching  ques- 
tions were  put  to  Constable  Kelly. 

"How  did  you  come  by  it,  Joe?"  was  question  the 
first 

Before  committing  himself  in  any  way,  Joe  scratched 
a  fair  Saxon  poll  like  a  very  wise  policeman,  indeed. 
It  was  as  if  he  had  said,  "Joseph  Kelly,  my  friend, 
anything  you  say  now  will  be  used  in  evidence  against 
you." 

At  last,  cocking  at  Harriet  a  cautious  eye,  he  replied 
impressively,  "I'll  tell  you."  But  it  was  not  until  Eliza 

25 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


had  imperiously  repeated  the  question  that  he  came  to 
the  point  of  so  doing. 

So  accustomed  was  Joseph  Kelly  to  the  giving  of  evi- 
dence that  unconsciously  he  assumed  the  air  of  one  upon 
his  oath. 

"I  was  percedvng,"  said  he,  "about  twenty-past  four 
through  Grosvenor  Square,  on  my  way  to  Victoria,  when 
I  see  through  the  fog  this  bloomin'  contraption  on  a 
doorstep." 

"What  was  the  number  ?"  Eliza  asked. 

"I  was  so  flabbergasted,  I  forgot  to  look." 

"Well,  really,  Joe!" 

"When  I  saw  what  was  in  the  basket,  I  was  so  took, 
as  you  might  say,  that  it  was  not  until  I  was  at  the  end 
of  the  street  that  I  thought  of  looking  for  the  number. 
And  then  it  was  too  late  to  swear  to  the  house." 

"In  Grosvenor  Square?"  said  Harriet. 

"I'm  not  percisely  sure.  The  fog  was  so  thick  in 
Mayfair  you  could  hardly  see  your  hand  before  you.  It 
may  have  been  one  of  them  cross  streets  going  into  Park 
Lane." 

"A  nice  one  you  are,  Joe."  And  Eliza  began  to  croon 
softly  to  the  babe  in  her  arms. 

Kelly  stroked  his  head  perplexedly. 

"I  am,"  he  said,  solemnly.  "A  proper  guy  I'll  look 
when  I  take  it  to  the  Yard  tomorrow  and  they  ask  me 
how  I  come  by  it." 

"Take  it  to  the  where?"  asked  Eliza  sharply. 

"To  Scotland  Yard  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  to 
the  Lost  Property  Department." 

"There's  going  to  be  no  Scotland  Yard  for  this  sweet 
lamb." 

26 


THE  ARRIVAL 


"If  I  had  done  my  duty  it  'd  ha'  gone  there  tonight." 

Said  Eliza :  "You  haven't  done  it,  Joe,  so  it's  no  use 
talking.  And  if  I  have  a  say  in  the  matter,  you  are  not 
going  to  do  it  now." 

Here  were  the  makings  of  a  very  pretty  quarrel.  But 
Eliza  had  one  signal  advantage.  She  knew  her  own 
mind,  whereas  Joe  evidently  did  not  know  his.  By  his 
own  admission  he  had  already  been  guilty  of  a  grave 
lapse  of  duty.  And  in  Eliza's  view  that  was  a  strong 
argument  why  the  creature  should  stay  where  it  was. 
It  would  be  foolish  for  Joe  to  give  himself  away  by 
taking  it  to  Scotland  Yard. 

The  argument  was  sound  as  far  as  it  went,  but  when 
it  came  to  the  business  of  the  Metropolitan  Force,  Joe 
was  a  man  with  a  conscience.  As  he  said,  with  a  dour 
look  at  Harriet,  two  wrongs  didn't  make  a  right,  and  to 
suppress  the  truth  by  keeping  the  kid  would  not  clear 
him. 

But  Eliza  was  adamant.  Joe  had  made  a  fool  of  him- 
self already.  He  had  nothing  to  gain  by  landing  himself 
deeper  in  the  mire,  whereas  the  heart  of  a  mother  had 
yearned  a  long  eight  years  for  the  highest  gift  of  Provi- 
dence. The  truth  was  that  from  the  outset  Joseph  Kelly 
had  precious  little  chance  of  doing  his  duty  in  the  matter. 

Perhaps  he  knew  that.  At  any  rate  he  did  not  argue 
his  case  as  strongly  as  he  might  have  done.  And  Eliza, 
rocking  the  babe  on  her  knee,  in  the  seventh  heaven  of 
bliss,  rent  Joe  in  pieces,  laughed  him  to  scorn.  Harriet, 
standing  by,  a  curious  look  on  her  face,  well  knew  how 
to  second  her;  yet  the  younger  woman  did  not  say  a 
word. 

In  a  very  few  minutes  Joe  had  hauled  down  his  flag. 

27 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


Really  he  had  not  a  chance.  It  was  a  very  serious  lapse 
from  the  path  of  duty,  but  what  could  he  do,  the 
simpleton ! 

"  'Finding  is  keeping'  with  this  bairn,"  said  the  tri- 
umphant Eliza. 

It  was  then  that  the  silent,  anxious,  hovering  Harriet 
claimed  a  share  of  the  spoils  of  victory. 

"Eliza,"  she  said,  "if  you  are  to  be  the  sweet  thing's 
mother,  I  must  be  its  godmother." 

"You  shall  be,  my  dear." 

Harriet  sealed  the  compact  by  a  swift,  stealthy  kiss 
upon  the  cheek  of  the  foundling,  who  now  slept  like  a 
cherub  on  the  knee  of  its  new  parent. 

"The  lamb !"  whispered  Eliza. 

Tears  of  happiness  came  into  the  eyes  of  the  mother- 
elect.  Harriet  turned  suddenly  away  as  if  unable  to  bear 
the  sight  of  them. 

Said  Joe  to  himself:  "This  is  what  I  call  a  rum 
'un."  But  even  in  the  moment  of  his  overthrow,  he  did 
not  forget  the  philosophical  outlook  of  that  august  body 
of  men,  whose  trust  he  had  betrayed.  He  turned  to  his 
long  neglected  cup  of  tea,  now  cold  alas!  and  swallowed 
it  at  a  gulp.  He  then  went  on  with  the  solemn  business 
of  toasting  bread  and  eating  it. 

To  add  to  Joe's  sense  of  defeat,  the  two  women  paid 
him  no  more  attention  now  than  if  he  had  not  been  in 
the  room  at  all. 

"The  sweetest  thing!"  whispered  the  one  ecstatically. 

"What  shall  we  call  it  ?"  whispered  the  other. 

"A  boy  or  a  girl?" 

"Oh,  a  girl." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

28 


THE  ARRIVAL 


"By  its  mouth.  A  boy  could  never  have  a  mouth  like 
that." 

"I  don't  know  that,  my  dear.  I've  seen  boys  with 
mouths " 

"But  look  at  the  dimples,  my  dear." 

"I  have  seen  boys  with  dimples " 

" Joe  Kelly,  you  are  the  durnedest  fool  alive." 

This  emotioned  statement  was  the  grace  to  a  very  sub- 
stantial slice  of  buttered  toast.  Joe  ate  steadily,  but 
his  countenance  now  bore  a  family  likeness  to  that  of 
a  bear. 

"Suppose  we  say  Mary?  It's  the  best  name  there  is, 
I  always  think." 

"But  it  may  turn  out  a  George,  my  dear.  I  hope  it 
will." 

"I  feel  sure  it's  a  Mary,"  affirmed  the  godmother  of 
the  sleeping  babe.  "I  wonder  who  are  the  parents  ?" 

"Whoever's  child  it  may  be,"  said  the  mother-elect, 
"one  thing  is  sure.  They  are  people  well  up.  I  don't 
think  I  ever  saw  a  child  so  cared  for.  And,  my  dear, 
look  at  the  shape  of  that  chin  and  the  set  of  that  ear. 
And  that  lovely  hand — a  perfect  picture  with  its  filbert 
nails.  Look  at  the  fall  of  those  eyelids.  No  wonder  it 
comes  out  of  Grosvenor  Square." 

"Grosvenor  Square  I'll  not  swear  to,"  came  a  further 
interpellation  from  the  table. 

"Get  on  with  your  tea,  Joe,"  said  the  mother-elect. 
"What  we  are  talking  of  is  no  concern  of  yours." 

The  miserable  Joe  took  off  his  boots  and  put  on  a 
pair  of  carpet  slippers. 

"You've  made  a  bad  slip-up,  my  boy,"  he  remarked,  as 
he  did  so. 

20 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


The  two  women  continued  to  croon  over  the  wonder- 
child.  Joe  took  a  pipe,  filled  it  with  shag  and  lit  it 
dubiously.  This  was  a  bad  business.  He  was  a  great 
philosopher,  as  all  policemen  are,  but  whenever  a  grim 
eye  strayed  across  the  hearth,  it  was  followed  by  a  frown 
and  a  grunt  of  perplexity. 

Joe  smoked  solemnly.  The  women  prattled  on.  But 
quite  suddenly,  like  a  bolt  from  a  clear  sky,  there  came 
a  very  unwelcome  intrusion.  The  street  door  was  flung 
open  and  a  young  constable  entered  breathlessly. 

Dugald  Maclean  was  received  with  surprise,  anger, 
and  dismay.  "Now  then,  my  lad,  what  about  it?"  de- 
manded Joe,  with  a  snarl  of  suppressed  fury. 

"I'm  seekin'  'Urban  Love,  a  trilogy,' "  proclaimed 
Dugald  Maclean;  and  he  spoke  as  if  the  fate  of  the 
empires  hung  upon  his  finding  it. 

"Seekin'  what,  you  durned  Scotchman?"  said  the 
alarmed  and  disgusted  Joe. 

With  deadly  composure,  Harriet  rose  from  the  side  of 
the  sleeping  babe. 

"Mr.  Maclean,  it  is  there,"  she  said,  icily.  And  she 
pointed  to  the  table  where  the  precious  manuscript  re- 
clined. 

"Thank  ye,"  said  Dugald,  coolly.  And  he  proceeded 
to  button  into  his  tunic  "Urban  Love,  a  trilogy." 

But  the  mischief  was  done.  The  alert  eye  of  an  ambi- 
tious police  constable  had  traveled  from  the  open  basket 
at  one  side  of  the  fire  to  the  object  at  the  other,  sleeping 
gently  now  upon  Eliza's  knee.  A  slow  grin  crept  over 
a  freckled  but  vulpine  countenance. 

"Blame  my  cats,"  he  muttered,  "so  there's  the  young 
spannil." 

30 


THE  ARRIVAL 


Joe  rose  majestically.  He  said  not  a  word,  but  again 
taking  the  intruder  very  firmly  by  the  collar  of  his  regula- 
tion overcoat,  hustled  him  with  quiet  truculence  through 
the  open  door  into  the  street.  Closing  the  door  and  turn- 
ing the  key,  he  then  went  back  to  his  meditations,  looking 
more  than  ever  like  a  disgruntled  bear. 


CHAPTER  II 

AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 
1 

AUNT  ANNIE  was  the  first  to  be  told  the  great 
news.  In  the  view  of  both  nieces  it  was  in  the 
natural  order  of  things  that  this  august  lady 
should  take  precedence  of  the  rest  of  the  world.  She 
was  so  incontestably  the  family  "personage,"  the  emi- 
nence she  occupied  was  such  a  dizzy  one,  that  it  would 
have  been  just  as  unthinkable  not  to  grant  her  priority  in 
a  matter  of  such  vital  importance,  as  it  would  have  been 
to  deny  it  to  Queen  Victoria  in  an  affair  of  State. 

In  point  of  fact,  Aunt  Annie,  within  her  own  orbit, 
was  the  counterpart  and  reflection  of  her  Sovereign.  In 
an  outlook  they  were  alike,  they  were  alike  in  the  range 
of  their  ideas,  and  well-informed  people  had  said  that 
they  had  tricks  of  speech  and  manner  in  common.  This 
may  have  been  a  little  in  excess  of  the  truth,  one  of  those 
genial  pleasantries  it  is  the  part  of  wisdom  to  accept  in 
the  spirit  in  which  they  are  offered,  but  it  would  be  wrong 
to  deny  that  in  the  suburb  of  Laxton  Aunt  Annie  took 
rank  as  a  very  great  lady. 

It  is  true  that  she  lived  in  a  small  and  modest  house 
in  an  unpretentious  street,  but  all  the  world  knew  that 
the  flower  of  her  years  had  been  passed  in  abodes  very 

32 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

different.  And  not  only  that,  it  was  also  known  that 
every  year  on  her  birthday,  the  twenty-sixth  of  March, 
those  whom  it  is  hardly  right  to  mention  in  these  humble 
pages  came  to  call  on  her.  On  the  twenty-sixth  of  every 
March,  sometime  in  the  afternoon,  a  remarkable  equipage 
would  appear  before  the  chaste  precincts  of  "Bowley," 
Croxton  Park  Road.  At  that  hour  every  self-respecting 
pair  of  eyes  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  would  be 
ambushed  discreetly  behind  curtains  in  order  to  watch  the 
descent  of  a  real  live  princess  with  a  neat  parcel. 

The  contents  of  the  parcel  were  said  to  vary  from 
year  to  year.  Now  it  would  be  a  piece  of  choice  needle- 
work, fashioned  by  the  accomplished  hands  of  Royalty 
itself,  which  would  take  the  shape  of  a  cushion  or  a  foot- 
stool, now  a  framed  photograph  of  Prince  Adolphus  or 
Princess  Geraldine  in  significant  stages  of  their  adoles- 
cence, now  a  chart  of  the  august  features  of  even  more 
important  members  of  the  family.  Many  were  the  his- 
torical objects  disposed  about  Aunt  Annie's  sitting-room, 
which  the  elect  of  the  neighborhood  had  the  privilege  of 
seeing  and  handling  when  they  came  to  call  upon  her. 
But  when  all  was  said,  the  undoubted  gem  of  the  collec- 
tion was  a  superb  edition,  bound  in  full  calf,  of  the 
Poems  of  A.  L.  O.  E.,  with  a  certain  signature  upon  the 
fly-leaf.  This  was  always  kept  under  glass. 

It  chanced  that  Aunt  Annie  had  invited  herself  to  tea 
at  Number  Five,  Beaconsfield  Villas,  the  day  after  the 
arrival  of  the  babe.  This  was  strictly  in  accord  with 
rule  and  precedent.  She  was  far  too  much  a  personage 
to  be  invited  by  her  niece  Eliza,  but  if  she  intimated  by 
a  letter,  which  was  the  last  word  in  precision,  that  she 
proposed  to  call  on  a  certain  day,  Eliza  humbly  and 

33 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


gratefully  overhauled  the  best  tea  service  and  polished 
the  lacquer  tray  which  was  only  used  on  State  occasions. 

Not  merely  the  mother-elect,  but  also  godmother 
Harriet,  saw  the  hand  of  a  very  special  Providence  in 
the  impending  visit  of  Aunt  Annie  to  Beaconsfield  Villas. 
It  was  only  right  and  fit  that  the  news  should  be  first  told 
to  her.  The  matter  must  have  her  sanction.  By  com- 
parison the  rest  of  the  world  was  of  small  account.  The 
entire  clan  Sanderson  lived  in  awe  of  her,  and  particu- 
larly her  imprudent  and  demode  niece  Eliza.  The 
prestige  of  Aunt  Annie  was  immense,  and  it  did  not  make 
things  easier  for  those  who  lived  within  the  sphere  of 
her  influence  that  the  old  lady  was  fully  alive  to  the 
fact. 

Eliza  confided  to  Harriet  that  she  would  breathe  more 
freely  when  the  morrow's  visit  had  taken  place.  Harriet 
boldly  said  it  didn't  really  matter  what  view  Aunt  Annie 
took  of  the  affair.  But  Eliza  knew  better.  In  spite  of 
the  joys  of  vicarious  motherhood,  there  could  be  no 
peace  of  mind  for  Eliza  until  the  fateful  day  was  over. 

Half-past  four  in  the  afternoon  was  the  hour  men- 
tioned in  the  official  note.  And  it  was  then,  punctual  to 
the  minute,  that  a  vehicle  of  antique  design  even  for  that 
remote  period  of  the  world's  history,  in  charge  of  a 
Jehu  to  match  it,  drew  up  on  the  cobblestones  exactly 
opposite  Number  Five.  The  fog  had  cleared  consider- 
ably since  the  previous  evening,  therefore  three  urchins, 
spellbound  by  the  appearance  of  such  a  turnout  in  their 
own  private  thoroughfare,  beheld  the  slow  and  stately 
emergence  of  a  superbly  Victorian  bonnet  of  the  most 
authentic  design  and  a  black  mantle  of  impressive  sim- 
plicity. 

34 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

Jehu,  like  the  equipage  itself,  jobbed  for  the  occasion, 
was  the  mirror  of  true  courtliness.  He  had  an  uncle  in 
the  Royal  stables,  therefore  he  knew  the  deference  due 
to  the  august  Miss  Sanderson.  In  promoting  her  descent 
from  the  chariot  he  did  not  actually  take  off  his  hat,  but 
he  stood  with  it  off  in  spirit;  a  fact  sufficiently  clear  to 
the  three  youthful  onlookers,  one  of  whom  remarked  in 
a  voice  of  awe,  "It's  the  mayoress." 

Eliza,  quaking  over  her  best  tea  service  on  its  elegant 
tray,  knew  without  so  much  as  a  glance  through  the 
window  that  Aunt  Annie  had  come.  But  she  waited  for 
the  knock.  And  then  apronless,  in  her  best  dress,  with 
never  a  hair  out  of  place,  she  opened  the  door  with  a 
certain  slow  stateliness.  Before  her  mesalliance  she  had 
had  great  prospects  as  lady's  maid. 

"Good  morning,  dear  Eliza." 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  but  the  distin- 
guished visitor  undoubtedly  said,  "Good  morning,  dear 
Eliza."  Moreover,  she  offered  a  large  and  rigid  cheek 
and  Eliza  pecked  at  it  rather  nervously. 

The  door  of  Number  Five  closed  upon  Jehu,  upon  his 
wonderful  and  fearful  machine,  and  also  upon  the  gen- 
eral public. 

"And  how  is  Joseph  ?" 

"Nicely,  thank  you,  Aunt  Annie.  I  hope  you  are  quite 
well." 

"As  well  as  my  rheumatism  will  permit." 

"Won't  you  take  off  your  things  ?" 

"Thank  you,  no,  my  dear." 

Aunt  Annie  would  rather  have  died  than  take  off  her 
things  in  that  house.  In  her  heart  she  had  never  been 
able  to  forgive  Eliza  her  marriage.  Joseph  Kelly  was 

35 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


a  worthy  fellow  no  doubt,  a  good  husband,  and  a  consci- 
entious police  officer,  but  by  no  exercise  of  the  imagina- 
tion could  he  ever  occupy  the  plane  of  a  Sanderson.  It 
may  have  been  mere  pride  of  family  but  then  pride  of 
family  is  a  queer  thing. 

Poor  Eliza  had  fallen  sadly  from  grace.  She  had  come 
down  in  the  world,  whereas  a  true  Sanderson  always 
made  a  point  of  going  up  in  it.  Even  if  Eliza's  relations 
as  a  whole  were  inclined  to  take  a  sympathetic  view  of 
her  marriage,  the  one  among  them  who  really  counted, 
was  never  quite  able  to  overlook  the  fact  in  her  dealings 
with  her.  Eliza  had  cause  to  feel  nervous  for  Aunt 
Annie  was  never  so  impressive  as  when  she  entered  the 
modest  front  parlor  of  Number  Five. 

It  was  easy  for  Aunt  Annie  to  do  that,  because  nature 
was  on  her  side.  With  the  honorable  exception  of  her 
friend,  Alderman  Bradbury,  the  present  mayor  of  the 
borough,  she  had  more  personality  than  anyone  in 
Laxton.  For  forty  years  she  had  moved  in  the  highest 
circles  in  the  land.  Moreover,  she  had  moved  in  them 
modestly,  discreetly,  with  the  most  punctilious  good 
sense.  She  had  known  her  place  exactly,  had  kept  it, 
therefore,  with  ever  increasing  honor  and  renown;  but 
the  spirit  of  imperious  self-discipline  which  had  entered 
into  her  in  the  process,  sternly  required  that  ordinary 
people  in  their  dealings  with  her  should  know  their 
place,  too,  and  also  be  careful  to  keep  it.  In  the  domes- 
tic circle  Aunt  Annie  was  a  pitiless  autocrat,  and  in  public 
life  even  the  Mayor  of  Laxton  and  its  leading  Aldermen 
did  not  withhold  their  deference  when  she  condescended 
to  converse  with  them  upon  matters  relating  to  the  infant 
life  of  the  borough. 

36 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

No  wonder  Laxton's  leading  inhabitants  kow-towed 
to  Aunt  Annie.  No  wonder  niece  Eliza  cowered  in  spirit 
when  she  superbly  entered  that  modest  dwelling  and  sat 
in  its  most  capacious  chair.  Tea  was  offered  her,  with- 
out sugar  and  with  only  a  very  little  milk  according  to 
her  stoical  custom. 

"Thankee,  my  dear." 

The  great  lady  removed  a  black  kid  glove,  and 
coquetted  with  a  delicate  slice  of  bread  and  butter.  If 
you  have  lived  in  palaces  most  of  your  days  you  know 
that  simplicity  in  all  things  is  the  true  art  of  life.  Right 
at  the  back,  as  Eliza  well  knew,  Aunt  Annie  was  by  no 
means  so  simple  as  she  made  a  point  of  seeming.  Her 
tastes  and  manners  were  modeled  upon  a  sublime  Origi- 
nal, but  as  the  memoirs  of  the  time  have  shown  in  the 
one  case  that  things  may  not  be  always  what  they  seem, 
the  same  held  true  in  the  other. 

Eliza  had  never  felt  so  nervous  in  her  life.  Even  the 
historic  hour  in  which  she  had  first  announced  her 
engagement  to  Joe  could  hardly  compare  with  this.  But 
it  was  not  until  Aunt  Annie  had  passed  to  her  second 
piece  of  bread  and  butter  that  the  thunderbolt  fell. 

"A  cradle,  my  dear!" 

It  was  quite  true  that  a  cradle  was  in  the  chimney 
corner,  within  three  yards  of  Laxton's  leading  author- 
ity on  the  subject.  Moreover,  it  was  a  cradle  of  the  latest 
design,  a  cradle  of  the  most  elegant  contour,  it  was  a 
cradle  provided  with  springs  and  lace  curtains. 

Eliza  blushed  hotly  and  murmured  something  about 
Harriet  having  had  it  sent  that  morning.  And  then  all 
at  once  she  became  so  confused  that  she  began  to  pour 

37 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


out  her  own  tea  into  the  slop-basin  instead  of  the  cup 
provided  for  the  purpose. 

"Harriet  who,  my  dear?" 

There  was  only  one  Harriet,  and  Eliza  knew  that  Aunt 
Annie  knew  that.  It  was  a  mere  ruse  to  gain  time — 
if  such  a  word  can  be  used  without  impropriety  in  such 
connection.  Eliza  sought  to  cover  her  confusion  by  a 
sedulous  holding  of  the  tongue,  and  by  an  attempt  to 
pour  out  her  tea  as  if  she  really  knew  what  she  was 
about. 

"What  is  there  in  it?" 

The  demand  was  point-blank.  It  was  almost  pas- 
sionate. 

Without  waiting  to  be  told  what  there  was  in  it,  Aunt 
Annie  rose,  tea  cup  and  all,  and  with  the  glower  of  a 
sibyl  drew  aside  the  curtains. 

II 

Mary  was  sleeping.  Empirical  science  had  proved  her 
beyond  a  doubt  to  be  a  Mary.  And  she  was  sleeping 
as  the  best  Marys  do  at  the  age  of  one  month  and  a 
bittock,  with  her  thumb  in  her  mouth — if  they  are 
allowed  to  do  so. 

To  say  that  Aunt  Annie  was  taken  aback  would  be 
like  saying  that  Zeus  was  a  little  offended  with  certain 
events  when  he  blew  the  planet  Earth  out  of  the  firma- 
ment in  the  year  19 — .  However! — it  was  as  much  as 
Aunt  Annie  could  do  to  believe  the  evidence  of  her  eyes. 
She  fronted  her  niece  augustly. 

"And  you  never  told  me,  my  dear." 

"It  didn't  come  till  last  evening,"  stammered  Eliza. 

38 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

But  a  leading  authority,  even  upon  a  subject  so  recon- 
dite, is  not  deceived  in  that  way. 

"The  child  is  five  weeks  old  if  it's  an  hour,"  scornfully 
affirmed  the  expert.  "Besides," — the  eye  of  the  expert 
transfixed  her  niece  piercingly — "do  you  suppose — a 
woman  of  my  experience — needs  to  be  told — but  why 
pursue  the  subject!" 

For  the  moment  Eliza  felt  so  guilty  that  she  was  quite 
unable  to  pursue  the  subject.  Yet  there  was  no  reason 
why  she  should  allow  herself  to  be  overwhelmed,  except 
that  Aunt  Annie  had  an  almost  sublime  power  of  putting 
people  in  the  wrong.  The  situation  in  sheer  grandeur 
and  magnitude  was  altogether  too  much  for  her.  And 
the  mind  of  Aunt  Annie,  capable  of  volcanic  energy 
when  dealing  with  the  subject  it  had  -made  its  own,  had 
already  traveled  an  alarming  distance  before  Eliza  could 
impose  any  check  upon  it. 

"A  very  fine  child — a  very  fine  child  indeed — 
but !" 

The  portentous  gravity  of  the  words  should  have 
brought  a  chill  to  the  soul  of  Eliza.  But  for  some  odd 
reason  it  caused  her  to  laugh  hysterically. 

"It  is  not  a  laughing  matter,"  said  the  face  of  Aunt 
Annie;  her  stern  lips  made  no  comment  on  the  pre- 
posterous behavior  of  her  niece. 

"She's  mine,"  gasped  Eliza,  when  laughter  had  brought 
her  to  the  verge  of  tears. 

"Tell  that  to  the  Marines,"  said  the  face  of  Aunt 
Annie.  In  fact  the  face  of  Aunt  Annie  said  more 
than  that.  It  said,  "Eliza,  I  should  like  to  give 
you  the  soundest  shaking  you  have  ever  had  in  your 
life." 

39 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"Joe  and  I  have  adopted  it,"  gurgled  Eliza  at  last. 

Aunt  Annie  drew  herself  up  to  her  full,  formidable, 
dragoon-like  height  of  five  feet  ten  inches,  and  gazed 
sublimely  down  from  that  Olympian  elevation. 

"Then  why  not  say  so,  my  dear,  in  so  many 
words,  without  making  yourself  so  profoundly  ridicu- 
lous?" 

HI 

With  tingling  ears,  Eliza  humbly  admitted  her  fault 
But  as  soon  as  she  had  done  so,  there  arose  a  serious 
problem,  for  a  simple  creature  in  whose  sight  the  truth, 
the  whole  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth  was  very  pre- 
cious. Aunt  Annie  began  to  ask  questions — questions 
which  forbade  a  person  of  ordinary  discretion  to  answer 
with  candor. 

Whose  was  the  child?  What  was  its  origin?  What 

did  the  parents ?  Why  did  the  parents ? 

When  did  the  parents — • — ?  Did  Eliza  fully  realize  the 
grave  nature  of  the  responsibility  she  was  taking  upon 
herself? 

It  was  the  last  question  of  the  series  that  Eliza 
answered  first.  And  this  she  did  for  a  sufficient  reason : 
to  answer  the  others  was  wholly  beyond  her  power. 

"We  may  be  doing  a  very  unwise  thing,"  said  Eliza. 
"Joe  and  I  know  that." 

"I  am  sure  I  hope  you  do,  my  dear.  But  tell  me, 
where  did  you  get  it?" 

The  voice  of  truth  enjoined  on  a  doorstep  in 
Grosvenor  Square,  but  the  voice  of  prudence  said  other- 
wise. And  the  voice  of  prudence  sounded  a  very  clear 
and  masterful  note  in  Eliza's  ear,  for  Joe,  Harriet,  and 

40 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

she  were  fully  agreed  that  the  true  story  must 
not  be  given  to  the  world.  Diplomacy  was  called 
for.  Such  a  forthright  creature  was  quite  uni- 
versed  in  that  dubious  art,  but  she  must  prepare  to  use 
it  now. 

"I  promised  I  wouldn't  tell."  Alas!  that  crude 
formula  was  all  in  the  way  of  guile  that  poor  flustered 
Eliza  could  muster  at  the  moment. 

Less  by  instinctive  cleverness  than  by  divine 
accident  there  was  a  world  of  meaning,  however,  in  that 
faltering  tone.  And  a  word  to  the  wise  is  sufficient 
There  was  not  a  wiser  woman  in  England  than  Aunt 
Annie,  except — of  course,  that  is  to  say! — speaking 
merely  for  the  lieges  of  the  realm — . 

"Very  well,  I  don't  press  the  question."  It  was  the 
tone  she  had  once  accidentally  overheard  a  very  great 
Personage  use  to  Lord  Gr-nv-lle. 

Eliza  sighed  relief. 

"But,  let  me  say  this,"  Aunt  Annie  looked  steadily 
at  her  niece.  "I  ask  no  questions  in  regard  to  the  parents, 
but  whoever  they  may  be,  you  must  know  that  you  run 
a  risk.  The  offspring  of  a  regular  union  are  often  un- 
satisfactory, the  offspring  of  an  irregular  union,  although 
I  praise  heaven  I  have  had  no  personal  experience  of 
them,  always  bring  sorrow  to  those  with  whom  they 
have  to  do." 

Eliza  could  only  reply  that  the  creature  was  such  a 
dear  lamb  that  she  was  quite  prepared  to  take  the  risk. 
Aunt  Annie  shook  a  solemn  head  at  her  niece,  and  then 
surveyed  the  infant  in  true  professional  style.  The  babe 
still  slept.  Before  the  great  critic  and  connoisseur  made 
any  comment  she  removed  the  thumb  from  the  delightful 

41 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


mouth.  And  the  act  was  done  with  such  delicacy  as 
not  to  bring  a  cloud  to  the  dreams  of  this  wonderful 
Mary. 

This  was  a  rosebud  of  a  creature,  and  she  lay  in  her 
grand  cradle  as  if  she  simply  defied  even  the  highest 
criticism  to  dispute  the  fact.  Certainly  one  who  knew 
what  babies  were  did  not  try  to  do  so.  Only  one  remark 
was  offered  at  that  moment,  but  to  the  initiated  it  was 
worth  many  volumes. 

"Whoever's  child  it  may  be,"  said  Aunt  Annie,  "and 
mind  I  don't  go  into  that,  it  is  not  a  child  of  common 
parents." 

IV 

For  some  odd  reason,  Eliza  was  so  intensely  flattered 
by  Aunt  Annie's  words,  that  she  felt  a  desire  to  hug 
her.  None  knew  so  well  as  Eliza  that  it  was  not  a  child 
of  common  parents,  but  it  was  not  the  way  of  this 
expert  to  say  so.  The  wonderful  creature  was  "wrapt 
in  mystery,"  but  the  hallmark  of  quality  must  have  been 
stamped  very  deep  for  such  a  one  as  Aunt  Annie  to 
commit  herself  to  any  such  statement.  Her  standard  was 
princes  and  princesses.  Every  babe  in  Christendom  was 
judged  thereby,  and  there  was  perhaps  one  in  a  million 
that  could  hope  to  survive  the  test. 

A  miracle  had  happened,  but  it  was  really  too  much  to 
expect  that  the  cradle  would  have  a  share  in  it.  Aunt 
Annie  shook  her  head  over  the  cradle.  It  had  too  many 
fal-lals.  She  approved  neither  its  curtains  nor  its  air  of 
grandeur.  She  was  a  believer  in  plainness  and  sim- 
plicity. If  before  incurring  an  unwarrantable  expense, 
her  niece  had  only  mentioned  the  matter,  the  great  lady 

42 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

would  have  gone  to  Armitt's  personally  and  have 
arranged  for  a  replica  of  the  hygienic  but  unpretentious 
design  supplied  by  that  famous  firm  to  the  Nursery  over 
which  she  had  presided. 

Eliza,  however,  could  accept  no  responsibility  for  the 
cradle.  Harriet  had  sent  it  that  morning  quite  unex- 
pectedly. Aunt  Annie  was  a  little  surprised  that  the 
taste  of  Bridport  House  in  cradles  was  not  a  little  surer. 
Yet  upon  thinking  the  matter  over  she  found  she  was 
less  surprised  than  she  thought  she  was.  The  Dinne- 
fords  were  a  good  family,  the  Duke  was  esteemed,  his 
late  Duchess,  for  a  brief  period,  had  been  Mistress  of 
the  Posset,  but  after  all  Bridport  House  was  not  Bowley. 
After  all  a  Gulf  was  fixed. 

It  was  vain  for  Eliza  to  show  how  disappointed  Har- 
riet would  be;  the  cradle  had  so  clearly  cost  a  great 
deal  of  money.  It  had  cost  too  much  money,  that  was 
the  head  and  front  of  the  cradle's  offending.  There 
was  an  air  of  the  parvenu  about  it.  Such  a  cradle  would 
never  have  been  tolerated  at  Bowley,  nay,  it  was  open  to 
doubt  whether  it  would  have  been  tolerated  at  Bridport 
House. 

Annt  Annie  was  still  discoursing  upon  cradles  out  of 
a  full  mind,  when  Harriet  herself  came  on  the  scene. 
She  was  spending  a  few  days  at  Number  Five  Beacons- 
field  Villas  before  going  down  to  Buntisford,  and  she  had 
now  returned  from  a  day's  shopping  in  London.  She 
knew  that  Aunt  Annie  was  coming  to  tea,  yet  in  spite 
of  being  forewarned,  the  sight  of  the  dominant  old  lady 
seated  at  the  table  seemed  to  dash  her  at  once. 

For  one  thing,  perhaps  they  were  not  the  greatest  of 
friends.  It  may  have  been  that  Bowley  set  too  high 

43 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


a  value  upon  itself  in  the  eyes  of  Bridport  House,  it 
may  have  been  that  Bridport  House  held  itself  too  inde- 
pendent in  the  eyes  of  Bowley.  The  clan  Sanderson, 
one  and  all,  revered  Aunt  Annie;  there  was  no  gain- 
saying that  her  career  had  been  immensely  distinguished ; 
but  at  this  moment  Harriet's  greeting  certainly  seemed 
just  a  little  perfunctory;  it  might  even  be  said  to  have 
a  covert  antagonism. 

Harriet's  health  was  tenderly  inquired  after,  she  was 
solemnly  congratulated  on  her  recent  appointment,  which 
did  her  much  credit  and  conferred  honor  upon  her 
family;  but  it  was  soon  apparent  that  there  was  only 
one  subject,  to  which,  at  that  moment,  Harriet  could 
give  her  mind.  Had  she  been  the  mother  of  the  babe, 
instead  of  the  godmother  merely,  her  impatience  to  draw 
aside  the  curtains  of  the  cradle  could  hardly  have  been 
greater,  or  her  delight  in  looking  upon  a  ravishing  spec- 
tacle when  she  had  done  so. 

Even  the  stern  criticism  of  those  curtains  she  did  not 
heed,  until  she  had  gazed  her  fill.  It  was  a  babe  in 
a  million.  And  when  at  last  she  was  up  against  the 
curtains,  so  to  speak,  instead  of  meeting  the  curtains 
fairly  and  squarely,  she  began  to  paint  extravagant  pic- 
tures of  the  future. 

Her  name  was  Mary.  That  was  settled.  She  was 
to  be  brought  up  most  carefully;  indeed,  it  was  decided 
already  that  she  was  to  have  a  first-rate  education. 

"A  first-rate  education!"  There  was  a  slight  curl 
of  a  critical  lip. 

"Why  not?"  inquired  godmother  Harriet. 

"The  expense,  my  dear!" 

"I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  afford  it." 

44 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

"You,  my  dear,"  said  Aunt  Annie,  rather  pointedly. 

"I  am  the  godmother,"  said  Harriet,  with  the  light  of 
battle  in  her  eyes. 

"So  I  hear.  But  don't  forget  she  is  to  be  the  child 
of  a  police  constable." 

"She  is  not  the  child  of  a  police  constable,"  said  Har- 
riet, with  a  mounting  color. 

"I  don't  know  whose  child  she  is.  That  is  a  ques- 
tion I  prefer  to  avoid.  But  in  my  humble  opinion  it 
will  be  a  grave  mistake  to  educate  her  above  the  class  to 
which  it  has  pleased  Providence  to  call  her.  No  good 
can  come  of  it." 

"That's  nonsense !"  The  fine  voice  had  a  slight  tremble 
in  it. 

Aunt  Annie  looked  down  her  large  nose.  "At  any 
rate,  that  has  always  been  my  view.  And  it  has  always 
been  the  view  of,  I  will  not  say  who.  It  is  very  perilous 
to  tamper  with  the  order  of  Divine  Providence.  And 
I  am  surprised  that  one  who  has  been  called  to  a  posi- 
tion of  high  responsibility  should  think  otherwise." 

The  quick  flush  upon  Harriet's  cheek  showed  that  the 
old  lady  had  got  home.  She  was  always  formidable 
at  close  quarters ;  even  Harriet  had  to  be  wary  in  trying 
a  fall  with  her. 

"The  child  must  have  a  good,  sensible  upbringing. 
Let  her  be  taught  cooking,  sewing,  plain  needlework,  and 
so  on.  And  /  shall  be  very  glad  to  give  a  little  advice 
from  time  to  time.  But  I  repeat  it  will  be  most  unwise 
to  set  her  up,  no  matter  who  her  parents  may  be,  above 
the  station  in  life  to  which  it  has  pleased  Providence 
to  call  her." 

Again  the  light  of  battle  darkened  the  eyes  of  Harriet 

45 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"It  is  early  days  at  present  to  talk  about  it,"   she 
said.    And  she  laughed  suddenly  in  a  high-pitched  key. 


Water  flowed  under  London  Bridge.  The  flight  of 
time  demanded  that  Mary  should  fulfill  her  promise  of 
being  the  most  wonderful  child  ever  seen.  She  did  not 
fail,  but  grew  in  grace  and  beauty  like  a  flower.  At  the 
date  of  her  arrival  her  age  was  deemed  to  be  one  month. 
By  the  time  it  had  been  multiplied  by  twelve  a  person- 
ality had  begun  to  emerge,  twelve  months  later  it  was 
possible  to  gauge  it. 

There  never  was  such  a  child.  Eliza  held  that  opinion 
from  the  first,  and  godmother  Harriet  shared  it.  Aunt 
Annie  was  more  discreet,  but  her  actions  expressed  an 
interest  of  the  highest  kind.  From  the  moment  she  had 
committed  herself  to  the  memorable  statement  that 
"Whoever's  child  she  may  be,  she  is  not  a  child  of  com- 
mon parents,"  there  was  really  no  more  to  be  said. 
But  as  the  months  passed  and  Mary  became  Mary  yet 
more  definitely,  the  old  lady,  to  the  astonishment  of  both 
her  nieces,  began  to  identify  herself  intimately  with  the 
fortunes  of  the  creature. 

The  critical  age  of  two  was  safely  passed.  And  the 
age  of  three  found  Mary  more  than  ever  the  cynosure 
of  Number  Five,  Beaconsfield  Villas.  The  infant  had 
such  health,  her  eyes  were  so  blue,  her  laugh  was  so 
gay,  her  rose-bloom  tints  were  so  dazzling,  that  the 
childless  hearth  of  the  Kelly s'  was  somehow  touched 
with  the  hues  of  Paradise.  In  moments  of  gloom  Joe 
had  his  doubts,  and  now  and  again  expressed  them. 

46' 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

He  had  certainly  done  very  wrong,  the  whole  matter 
was  most  irregular,  but  the  look  in  Eliza's  face  was  a 
living  contradiction  to  official  pessimism. 

In  the  meantime  Aunt  Annie  sat  many  an  hour,  spec- 
tacles on  nose,  making  "undies"  for  her  new  niece. 
The  old  lady  was  much  courted  by  the  rest  of  her 
family.  Even  amid  the  remoter  outposts  of  the  clan, 
her  word  was  law.  Apart  from  the  romance  of  her 
career,  she  enjoyed  a  substantial  pension,  she  owned 
house  property,  and  the  stocking  in  which  she  kept  her 
savings  was  known  to  be  a  long  one.  But  beyond  all 
things  was  the  woman  herself.  It  was  sheer  weight  of 
character  that  gave  her  such  a  special  place  among  her 
peers. 

The  clan  Sanderson  was  extensive,  and  inclined  to 
exclude.  There  were  Sandersons  holding  positions  of 
trust  in  various  parts  of  London  and  the  country.  There 
was  Mr.  George  Sanderson,  who  was  in  a  bank  at  Sur- 
biton,  who,  if  he  did  not  actually  share  the  apex  with 
his  cousin  Annie,  was  immensely  looked  up  to;  there 
was  Francis,  who,  from  very  small  beginnings,  had 
blossomed  into  a  chartered  accountant;  there  was  young 
Lawrence,  of  the  new  generation,  who  had  given  up 
being  a  page  boy  in  very  good  service,  for  the  lures 
of  journalism.  He  was  far  from  being  approved  by  his 
Aunt  Annie,  and  he  had  not  the  sanction  of  his  Uncle 
George,  but  he  was  understood  to  be  doing  very  well, 
and  if  he  only  kept  on  long  enough  and  made  suf- 
ficiently good  in  this  eccentric  way  of  life,  the  mandarins 
of  the  family  might  regard  him  a  little  more  hopefully. 
Finally,  there  was  Harriet.  Hers  was  a  truly  remark- 
able case. 

47 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


At  the  age  of  twenty-nine,  without  special  training 
or  any  particular  influence,  she  had  been  made  house- 
keeper to  the  Duke  of  Bridport  at  Buntisford  Hall, 
Essex.  The  more  modern  minds  among  the  clan  might 
affect  to  despise  a  success  of  that  kind,  but  for  gen- 
erations there  had  been  a  sort  of  feudal  connection  be- 
tween the  great  house  of  Dinneford  and  the  honest 
race  of  yeomen  who  had  served  it.  Chartered  Account- 
ant Francis  might  smile  in  a  superior  way,  young 
Lawrence  of  Fleet  Street,  a  perfect  anarchist  of  a  fellow, 
might  scoff,  but  every  true-blue  Sanderson  of  the  older 
generation  was  amazed  at  Harriet's  achievement,  and 
felt  a  personal  pride  in  it. 

Aunt  Annie,  who  had  a  temperamental  dislike  of  Har- 
riet, was  the  first  to  admit  that  the  rise  of  her  niece  had 
been  very  remarkable.  The  august  Miss  Sanderson 
was  an  unequaled  judge  of  what  Mr.  George  Sander- 
son called  "general  conditions."  Her  own  historical 
career  had  given  her  peculiar  facilities  for  gauging  the 
lie  of  a  country,  socially  speaking,  her  sense  of  values 
was  absolutely  correct,  and  she  was  constrained  to  admit, 
much  as  it  hurt  her  to  do  so,  that  Harriet's  success 
had  no  parallel  in  her  experience. 

Eliza  Kelly  occupied  a  very  different  place  in  the 
hierarchy.  She  was  perilously  near  the  base  of  the 
statue.  Her  brothers,  her  sisters,  her  uncles,  her  cousins, 
and  her  aunts,  had  always  made  a  practice  of  going 
up  in  the  world,  but  she  had  unmistakably  come  down 
in  it.  It  was  not  that  they  had  anything  against  Joe 
personally.  He  was  sober,  honest,  a  good  husband,  and 
he  well  knew  the  place  allotted  to  him  by  an  all-wise 
Providence.  But  when  the  best  had  been  said  for  him 

48 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

he  was  not,  and  could  never  hope  to  be,  a  Sanderson. 

It  was,  therefore,  the  more  surprising  that  Aunt  Annie 
should  take  so  great  an  interest  in  the  waif  that  the 
Kellys  had  adopted.  None  knew  the  name  of  its  parents, 
none  so  much  as  ventured  to  hint  at  the  source  of  its 
origin,  yet  the  mandarin-in-chief  accepted  it  as  soon  as 
she  set  eyes  upon  it,  and  month  by  month,  year  by  year, 
to  the  increasing  surprise  of  the  clan  as  a  whole,  her 
regard  for  the  creature  waxed  in  ever  growing  pro- 
portions. 

Mrs.  Francis — A  Miss  Best,  of  Sheffield — had  given  an 
account  of  her  afternoon  call  at  Bowley,  which  she 
had  timed  as  usual  for  the  day  after  Royalty  had  paid 
its  annual  visit.  Mrs.  F. — in  the  family,  she  was  always 
Mrs.  F. — had  then  seen  Mary  for  the  first  time.  And 
although  she  had  five  of  her  own,  the  child  had  made  a 
great  impression.  She  was  like  a  fairy,  with  vivid  eyes 
and  wonderful  hair,  which  Aunt  Annie  used  to  brush 
over  a  stick  every  time  she  came  to  Croxton  Park 
Road;  her  clothes  were  simple  and  in  perfect  taste,  but 
of  a  style  and  quality  far  beyond  the  reach  of  Mrs. 
F.'s  own  progeny.  She  was  then  a  little  more  than 
three,  and  not  only  Mrs.  F.,  but  others,  according  to 
Aunt  Annie's  account  of  the  matter,  had  been  greatly 
struck  by  her.  She  certainly  made  a  picture  with  her 
dainty  limbs,  her  laughing  eyes,  her  flaxen  curls.  All 
the  same,  it  was  very  absurd  that  the  child  should 
be  turned  out  in  that  way.  Eliza  and  Joe  could  not 
possibly  afford  it,  and  if  the  old  lady  was  responsible, 
as  was  feared  was  the  case,  she  ought  to  have  had  more 
sense  than  to  set  her  up  in  that  way. 

As  the  result  of  inquiries,  Mrs.  F.  felt  bound  to 

49 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


make  in  the  matter,  and  there  were  very  few  matters 
in  which  Mrs.  F.  did  not  feel  bound  to  make  inquiries 
of  one  kind  or  another,  it  appeared  that  Aunt  Annie 
was  not  responsible  for  her  clothes.  The  clothes  lay  at 
the  door  of  godmother  Harriet.  She  had  insisted  on 
choosing  them,  and  had  further  insisted  on  sharing  the 
considerable  expense  they  involved.  Mrs.  F.  gathered 
that  in  the  opinion  of  Aunt  Annie  and  also  in  that  of 
Eliza,  godmother  Harriet  was  inclined  to  abuse  her 
position.  She  was  always  insisting.  No  detail  of  the 
creature's  upbringing  escaped  her  interference.  She 
must  have  her  say  in  everything;  indeed,  she  came  over 
from  Buntisford  regularly  once  a  week  for  the  purpose 
of  having  it.  At  Beaconsfield  Villas,  and  also  at  Bow- 
ley,  she  took  a  very  high  tone,  which  Eliza  and  Aunt 
Annie  strongly  resented.  But  it  seemed  there  was  no 
remedy.  Harriet  was  the  godmother,  she  had  her  rights, 
her  will  was  as  imperious  as  Aunt  Annie's  own — and 
her  purse  seemed  fathomless. 

As  soon  as  Mary  was  four,  it  was  settled  that  she 
should  go  every  morning  to  Bowley  to  be  taught  her 
letters.  And  she  must  be  taken  there  by  a  girl  "who 
spoke  nicely."  It  seemed  that  a  girl,  who  spoke  nicely, 
was  a  rather  rare  bird  in  Laxton.  At  any  rate  Eliza 
having  been  compelled  in  the  first  place  to  yield  to  a 
nursemaid,  had  many  to  review  before  one  was  found 
whose  style  of  delivery  could  satisfy  the  fastidious  ear 
of  Aunty  Harriet. 

Eliza  might  be  piqued  by  such  "officiousness,"  but  she 
could  not  deny  that  Harriet  had  reason  on  her  side.  Per- 
haps it  was  overdoing  things  a  bit  for  people  in  their 
position,  but  Eliza,  if  fallen  from  high  estate,  was  still 

50 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

at  heart  a  Sanderson.  Therefore  she  knew  what  was 
what.  And  the  secret  was  hers  that  the  child's  real  home 
was  a  long  way  from  Number  Five  Beaconsfield  Villas, 
Laxton.  Eliza  could  never  quite  forget  the  source  o£ 
origin  of  her  adopted  daughter. 

Every  month  that  went  by  seemed  to  make  it  increas- 
ingly difficult  to  forget  that.  Princess  Geraldine  herself, 
that  figure  of  legend  who  used  to  call  at  Bowley 
every  twenty-sixth  of  March,  could  never  have  been 
in  more  devout  or  judicious  hands  than  little  Mistress 
Mary  in  that  of  the  Council  of  Three,  not  to  men- 
tion those  of  Miss  Sarah  Allcock,  specially  coopted. 
No  child  so  tended  and  cared  for,  whose  welfare  was 
so  carefully  studied  by  experts,  could  have  failed  to 
grow  in  beauty  and  grace.  She  was  so  perfectly  charm- 
ing and  superb  when  in  the  charge  of  the  discreet  Miss 
Allcock,  she  took  the  air  with  her  wonderful  hair,  her 
patrician  features  and  her  white  socks,  that  the  nearest 
neighbors  began  to  resent  it.  It  was  considered  rather 
swank  on  the  part  of  the  Kellys  to  set  up  such  a  child 
at  all.  They  were  surprised  that  Joe,  a  popular  man, 
should  not  have  a  truer  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things. 
They  were  less  surprised  at  Mrs.  Joe,  who  was  not 
quite  so  popular.  But  Joe  was  a  sensible  fellow,  and 
he  should  have  seen  to  it  that  the  child  did  not  become 
the  talk  of  the  neighborhood. 

Yet,  after  all,  it  may  not  have  been  so  much  the  fault 
of  Joe  or  of  Eliza,  his  wife,  that  the  child  became  the 
talk  of  the  neighborhood.  In  the  purview  of  local 
society,  whose  salon  was  Mrs.  Connor's,  the  green- 
grocer's lady,  at  the  end  of  the  street,  the  blame  lay 
at  the  door  of  Miss  Sarah  Allcock.  The  truth  was  the 

51 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


incursion  of  Miss  Allcock  was  keenly  resented  by  the 
local  ladies.  She  was  altogether  too  fine — yet  the  odd 
thing  was  that  she  was  not  fine  at  all.  But  she  was 
in  every  way  uncommonly  superior.  No  greater  tribute 
could  have  been  paid  to  the  social  supremacy  of  the  pre- 
siding genius  of  Croxton  Park  Road,  or  to  the  strength 
of  character  of  Aunty  Harriet,  than  that  such  a  one 
as  Miss  Allcock  should  condescend  to  Beaconsfield  Villas. 
Truth  to  tell,  Miss  Allcock  was  a  remote  connection  of 
the  clan  Sanderson,  although  never  admitted  as  such  by 
the  mandarins.  But  she  knew  there  were  strings  to 
pull,  and  a  good  place  had  been  guaranteed  her  when  she 
really  started  out  in  service. 

All  the  same,  as  far  as  the  neighbors  were  concerned, 
Miss  Sarah  Allcock  was  an  error  of  judgment.  She  was 
amazingly  neat  and  trim,  she  had  the  true  Sanderson 
refinement  of  manner  and  address,  she  was  fond  of 
airing  her  voice  to  her  charge  with  all  sorts  of  subtle 
Mayfair  inflections,  and  she  looked  envoy  from  the  neigh- 
bors as  if  they  were  dirt.  As  if  they  were  dirt — that 
was  the  gravamen  of  their  complaint  in  the  sympathetic 
ear  of  Mrs.  Bridgit  Connor. 

Mrs.  Bridgit  Connor,  the  greengrocer's  wife,  was  a 
widespread  lady  of  Irish  descent,  of  great  but  fluctuating 
charm,  and  unfailing  volubility.  Her  vocabulary  was 
immense,  but  scorn  often  taxed  it.  Her  scorn  of  Miss 
Allcock  taxed  it  to  the  breaking  point.  Born  on  a 
bog  and  descended  in  the  remote  past  from  the  kings  of 
the  earth,  Mrs.  Connor  had  facilities  of  speech  and  ges- 
ture denied  to  the  common  run  of  her  kind.  She  avenged 
the  slights  put  by  Miss  Allcock  upon  herself  and  friends 
by  alluding  to  that  lady's  charge  in  a  loud  voice  when- 

52 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

ever  opportunity  offered  as  "a  by-blow,"  or  "a  no-man's 
child." 

When  Mary  was  five  there  arose  the  grand  question 
of  her  education  proper.  At  first  a  great  clash  of  wills 
was  threatened.  Aunt  Annie  had  her  views.  Aunty 
Harriet  had  hers.  Eliza,  being  merely  "the  mother,"  was 
not  allowed  to  have  any.  Aunty  Harriet  thought  perhaps 
the  kindergarten.  Aunt  Annie  did  not  believe  in  such 
new-fangled  nonsense.  Besides  no  kindergarten  would 
take  her. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Aunty  Harriet.  But  as  she  spoke 
there  came  a  slight  flush  to  the  proud  face. 

"Because  they  won't,"  said  Aunt  Annie  with  stern 
finality.  "All  schools  of  the  better  sort  are  very  par- 
ticular." 

Aunty  Harriet  bit  her  lip  sharply.  She  retorted,  per- 
haps unwisely,  that  if  they  were  not  very  particular 
they  would  cease  to  be  schools  of  the  better  sort. 

"Quite  so,"  said  Aunt  Annie. 

For  the  moment  it  looked  as  if  daggers  were  going 
to  be  drawn.  These  two  were  always  at  the  verge  of 
conflict.  Both  were  impatient  of  any  kind  of  opposition, 
and  in  the  matter  of  young  Mistress  Mary  they  seldom 
saw  eye  to  eye.  Aunt  Annie  did  not  disguise  her  opinion 
that  Aunty  Harriet  was  inclined  to  take  too  much  upon 
herself,  and  Aunty  Harriet  had  no  difficulty  in  return- 
ing the  compliment. 

But  Harriet  had  great  common  sense,  and  she  was 
a  woman  of  action.  She  was  not  the  one  tamely  to 
accept  the  decree  about  schools  of  the  better  sort,  but 
began  to  make  researches  of  her  own  into  the  subject. 
She  was  very  hard  to  please,  both  in  regard  to  the 

S3 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


style  of  the  school  and  the  condition  of  the  scholars, 
and  when  at  last  one  had  been  found  which  met  the 
case,  there  arose  the  difficulties  Aunt  Annie  had  pre- 
dicted. A  child  of  parentage  unknown,  adopted  by  the 
family  of  a  police  constable,  did  not  commend  herself 
to  the  Misses  Lippincott  of  Broad  wood  House  Academy. 
To  Aunty  Harriet  this  seemed  a  great  pity;  the  school 
presided  over  by  those  ladies  was  exactly  suitable.  Its 
tone  was  high  but  not  pretentious;  the  small  daughters 
and  the  smaller  sons  of  Laxton's  leading  tradesmen 
mingled  with  those  of  its  professional  classes,  and  its 
reputation  was  so  good  that  Aunty  Harriet,  after  a  dis- 
creet interview  with  the  elder  Miss  Lippincott,  a  bishop's 
daughter  and  a  university  graduate,  set  her  mind  upon  it. 

Howbeit,  the  austere  Miss  Lippincott  showed  no  incli- 
nation to  receive  the  adopted  child  of  a  police  constable 
as  a  pupil  at  Broadwood  House  Academy.  This  was  not 
conveyed  to  Miss  Harriet  Sanderson  in  so  many  words, 
but  in  the  course  of  the  next  day  she  received  a  letter, 
delicately-worded,  to  that  effect.  However,  she  did  not 
give  in,  as  smaller  and  weaker  people  might  have  done, 
but  she  put  her  pride  in  her  pocket  and,  looking  the 
facts  in  the  face,  went  to  take  counsel  at  Bowley. 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  my  dear!"  said  Aunt  Annie. 
To  refrain  from  that  observation  would  have  been  super- 
human. But  the  observation  duly  made,  the  old  lady 
also  revealed  the  divine  gift  of  common  sense.  From 
all  that  she  had  heard  the  establishment  of  the  Misses 
Lippincott  was  immensely  desirable.  Moreover,  she 
clearly  remembered  the  Bishop,  their  late  father,  coming 
to  spend  the  week-end  at  the  real  Bowley,  and  hearing 
him  preach  a  singularly  moving  sermon  in  the  little 

54 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

parish  church.  Small  wonder,  then,  that  the  tone  of 
Broad  wood  House  Academy  was  "exactly  right"  in  every 
human  particular;  besides,  Aunt  Annie  had  met  and 
approved  Miss  Priscilla  Lippincott  on  two  occasions. 
Therefore,  the  old  lady  promised  Aunty  Harriet  that  she 
herself  would  see  what  could  be  done  in  the  matter. 

The  first  thing  Aunt  Annie  did  was  to  induce  the 
Mayoress,  Mrs.  Alderman  Bradbury,  to  say  a  word  on 
the  child's  behalf.  She  promptly  followed  up  this  piece 
of  strategy  by  ordering  her  state  chariot  to  drive  Mistress 
Mary  and  herself  to  Broadwood  House  Academy. 

The  child  was  looking  her  best.  Her  carefully-brushed 
tresses  shone  like  woven  sunbeams,  her  slight,  trim  form 
was  clothed  with  taste  and  elegance,  her  laughing  eyes 
were  frankly  unabashed  by  the  demure  Miss  Priscilla, 
nay,  even  by  the  august  Miss  Lippincott  herself.  The 
effect  she  made  was  entirely  favorable.  Besides,  the 
Mayoress  had  taken  the  trouble  to  call  the  previous  after- 
noon in  order  to  speak  for  her,  and  Miss  Sanderson, 
as  the  Misses  Lippincott  knew,  was  looked  up  to  in  Lax- 
ton;  therefore,  out  of  regard  for  all  the  circumstances, 
a  point  was  waived  and  little  Miss  Kelly  was  reluctantly 
admitted  to  Broadwood  House  Academy. 

VI 

The  Misses  Lippincott  never  had  cause  to  rue  their 
temerity.  Little  Miss  Kelly  remained  in  their  care  until 
she  was  big  Miss  Kelly,  a  brilliant  and  dashing  creature 
with  a  quite  extraordinary  length  of  black  stocking. 
Neither  Miss  Lippincott  nor  Miss  Priscilla  ever  regretted 
her  democratic  action.  In  fact,  it  was  a  source  of  jealous 

55 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


remark,  even  among  the  most  distinguished  scholars  of 
Broad  wood  House  Academy,  that  not  one  of  them  could 
wear  the  black  beaver  hat  with  the  purple  ribbon  and  its 
gold  monogram  B.  H.  A.,  or  the  blue  ulster  with  gilt  but- 
tons, in  quite  the  way  that  these  modish  emblems  were 
worn  by  Mary  Kelly. 

It  greatly  annoyed  Ethel  Cliffe,  who  lived  in  The 
Park,  and  was  a  daughter  of  Sir  Joseph,  three  times 
Mayor  of  Laxton,  that  in  looks  and  popularity  she  had 
to  yield  to  the  offspring  of  very  much  humbler  parents, 
who  lived  in  quite  an  obscure  part  of  the  borough.  But 
it  had  to  be.  Year  by  year  the  cuckoo  that  had  entered 
the  nest  grew  in  beauty  and  favor,  while  the  legitimate 
denizens  of  Broadwood  House  could  only  bite  their  lips 
and  marvel.  In  the  opinion  of  Ethel  Cliffe  and  her 
peers,  old  Dame  Nature  must  be  a  perfect  idiot  not  to 
know  her  business  a  bit  better. 

It  was  not  that  Mary  Kelly  made  enemies.  Her 
disposition  was  open,  free,  and  fearless;  her  heart  was 
gold.  Then,  too,  in  most  things,  she  was  amazingly 
quick.  She  never  made  any  bones  about  reading,  writ- 
ing, arithmetic,  geography,  and  so  on,  she  was  good  at 
freehand  drawing,  and  the  use  of  the  globes,  in  Swedish 
drill  and  ball  games,  particularly  at  hockey,  she  was 
wonderful,  and  in  music  and  dancing  there  was  none 
in  the  school  to  compare  with  her.  The  only  things  in 
which  she  did  not  really  excel  were  plain  needlework 
and  religious  knowledge.  These  bored  her  to  tears — 
except  that  she  proudly  reserved  her  tears  for  matters 
which  seemed  of  more  consequence. 

As  Mary  Kelly's  stockings  got  longer  and  longer  the 
supremacy  of  Ethel  Cliffe  grew  even  less  secure.  Even 

56 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

at  Broadwood  House  Academy  it  was  impossible  to  sub- 
sist entirely  on  your  social  eminence.  Ethel  had  openly 
sneered  at  the  outsider  upon  her  first  intrusion  in  the 
fold ;  the  only  daughter  of  a  very  recent  knight  found  it 
hard  to  breathe  the  same  air  as  the  offspring  of  a  humble 
police  constable.  But  Dame  Nature,  in  her  ignorant  way, 
bungled  the  whole  thing  so  miserably,  that  while  Ethel 
was  always  very  near  the  bottom  of  the  class,  Mary 
was  generally  at  the  top  of  it;  Ethel  was  heavy  and 
humorless,  and  inclined  to  take  refuge  in  her  dignity, 
Mary  was  bon  enfant,  with  very  little  in  the  way  of  dig- 
nity in  which  to  take  refuge.  And  in  proof  of  that,  a 
story  was  told  of  her,  soon  after  she  passed  the  age  of 
ten,  which  ran  like  wildfire  throughout  Broadwood 
House  Academy. 

It  seemed  that  in  the  vicinity  of  Mary's  undistin- 
guished home  were  certain  rude  boys.  Foremost  among 
them  was  Mrs.  Connor's  Michael,  the  youngest  and  not 
the  least  vocal  of  her  numerous  progeny.  And  it  often 
happened  that  Michael  was  en  route  from  his  own  seat  of 
learning,  where  manners  did  not  appear  to  be  in  the  cur- 
riculum, when  Mistress  Mary  was  on  the  way  home 
from  Broadwood  House  Academy,  where  manners  un- 
doubtedly were.  In  the  opinion  of  Michael's  mother  the 
Connors  were  quite  as  good  as  the  Kellys — very  much 
better  if  it  came  to  that! — and  this  tradition  had  been 
freely  imbibed  by  her  youngest  hope.  The  Connors  were 
quite  as  good  as  the  Kellys,  Michael  was  always  careful  to 
inform  his  peers,  but  the  haughty  beauty  of  Beacons- 
field  Villas,  in  her  beaver  hat  and  blue  ulster  with  gilt 
buttons  did  not  share  that  view.  She  had  simply  not, 

57 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


so  much  as  a  look  for  Michael  and  his  friends.  This 
aloofness  galled  them  bitterly. 

Had  she  only  known  such  aristocratic  indifference 
was  rather  cruel.  For  Michael's  one  distinction  among 
his  mates,  apart  from  his  skill  as  a  marble-player,  which 
was  very  considerable,  was  that  he  lived  in  the  same 
street  as  Miss  Kelly.  She  was  out  and  away  the  most 
wonderful  creature  ever  seen  in  that  part  of  Laxton. 
It  was  hard  to  forgive  her  for  carrying  her  head  in  the 
way  she  did,  yet  it  somehow  added  still  greater  piquancy 
to  a  personality  that  simply  haunted  the  manly  bosoms  of 
the  neighborhood.  But  her  aloofness  was  felt  to  be  such 
a  reflection  upon  Michael  himself,  that  at  last  that  war- 
rior was  moved  to  a  desperate  course. 

He  took  the  extreme  measure  of  offering  Miss  Kelly 
his  best  blood  alley.  But  it  was  in  vain;  Miss  Kelly 
would  have  none  of  his  best  blood  alley,  or  of  its  owner. 
Michael  then  decided  upon  war. 

In  discussing  the  Kellys  on  the  domestic  hearth, 
he  had  heard  his  mother  cast  grave  doubts  upon  the 
ancestry  of  their  so-called  daughter.  Therefore,  the 
spirt  of  revenge,  rankling  in  Michael's  tormented  breast, 
urged  him  to  adopt  a  certain  rhyme,  current  at  the  time, 
for  the  chastening  of  this  haughty  charmer.  Together 
with  a  few  chosen  braves  he  lay  in  ambush  for  her  as 
she  wended  her  proud  way  home  from  Broadwood 
House  Academy.  As  soon  as  Mary  Kelly  hove  in  sight 
round  the  corner  of  Grove  Street,  S.E.,  these  heroes 
burst  into  song: — • 

"I  am  Mary  Plantagenet. 
What  would  imagine  it? 
Eyes  full  of  liquid  fire, 
Hair  bright  as  jet. 
58 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

No  one  knows  my  history 
I  am  wrapt  in  mystery 
I  am  the  she-ro 
Of  a  penny  novelette." 

On  the  occasion  of  the  first  performance,  Miss  Kelly 
did  not  deign  to  take  the  slightest  notice.  But  after 
it  had  been  repeated  a  number  of  times  with  increasing 
reclatnce,  it  grew  more  than  she  could  brook.  One 
never-to-be-forgotten  Friday  evening,  in  the  fall  of  the 
year,  she  suddenly  handed  her  satchel  of  books  to  her 
friend,  Rose  Pierce,  and  with  decks  cleared  for  action 
and  the  flame  of  battle  in  her  eyes,  bore  down  upon  the 
foe.  Michael  Conner  afterwards  took  his  book  oath  to 
the  effect  that  he  was  not  a  coward.  But  the  beaver  hat, 
the  purple  ribbon,  the  blue  ulster  and  the  gilt  buttons 
put  the  fear  of  God  into  him  very  surely.  He  ran.  Alas, 
he  was  a  stocky  youth,  not  exactly  an  Ormonde,  even  in 
his  best  paces,  whereas  Mary  Plantagenet,  black  stock- 
ings and  all,  moved  like  a  thoroughbred.  She  chased  him 
remorselessly  the  whole  length  of  Longmore  Street, 
through  the  Quadrant,  finally  cornered  him  in  a  blind 
alley  in  which  he  had  the  bad  judgment  to  seek  refuge, 
and  soundly  boxed  his  ears. 

As  far  as  Mary  Kelly  was  concerned  the  incident  was 
closed  from  that  moment.  Michael  Connor  very  wisely 
decided  to  close  it  also.  He  returned  to  his  marble- 
playing  a  chastened  boy.  But  Rose  Pierce,  the  daughter 
of  Laxton's  leading  physician,  told  the  story  breathlessly 
at  Broadwood  House  Academy  on  the  following  morn- 
ing. All  agreed  that  the  prestige  of  the  school  had  been 
seriously  impaired,  but  Miss  Kelly  was  Mary  Plantagenet 
from  that  time  on. 

59 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


VII 

By  the  time  Mary  was  fourteen,  Broadwood  House 
Academy  had  taught  her  most  of  what  it  knew.  Then 
arose  the  question  of  her  future.  The  Kellys  were 
people  in  humble  circumstances,  and  it  was  felt  that  the 
child  must  be  put  in  the  way  of  getting  a  living.  Eliza 
suggested  a  shop,  Aunt  Annie  shorthand  and  typewriting, 
as  she  was  so  quick  at  her  books,  but  Aunty  Harriet 
vetoed  them  promptly.  And  as  year  by  year  that  auto- 
crat— promoted  since  the  Duke's  breakdown  in  health 
to  the  very  important  post  of  housekeeper  at  Bridport 
House,  Mayfair — had  supported  the  operations  of  a 
Strong  will  with  an  active  power  of  the  purse,  she 
carried  the  day  as  usual.  Mary  must  be  a  hospital  nurse. 

To  this  scheme,  however,  there  was  one  serious  draw- 
back. No  hospital  would  admit  her  for  training  until  she 
was  twenty-one.  The  problem  now  was,  what  she  should 
do  in  the  -meantime.  In  order  to  meet  it  the  Misses  Lip- 
pincott  allowed  her  to  stay  on  as  a  special  pupil  at  Broad- 
wood  House.  Paying  no  fees,  she  gave  a  hand  with  the 
younger  children,  and  was  able  to  continue  the  study  of 
music,  for  which  she  showed  a  special  aptitude. 

For  a  time  this  plan  answered  very  well.  The  Misses 
Lippincott  had  a  great  regard  for  Mary.  In  every  way 
she  was  a  credit  to  the  school.  Her  natural  gifts  were 
of  so  high  an  order  that  these  ladies  felt  that  a  career 
was  open  to  her.  There  was  nothing  she  might  not 
achieve  if  she  set  her  mind  upon  it,  always  excepting 
plain  needlework  and  religious  knowledge,  and  perhaps 
freehand  drawing,  in  which  she  was  a  little  disappointing 
also.  Brimming  with  vitality  and  the  joy  of  life  and 

60 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

yet  with  her  gay  enthusiasm  was  now  coming  to  he 
mingled  a  certain  ambition. 

As  month  by  month  she  grew  into  a  creature  of  charm 
and  magnetism,  she  seemed  to  learn  the  power  within 
herself.  But  that  discovery  brought  the  knowledge  that 
she  was  a  bird  in  a  cage.  The  daily  round  began  to  pall. 
A  rare  spirit  had  perceived  bars.  Broadwood  House 
Academy  was  dear  to  her,  but  she  now  craved  a  larger, 
a  diviner  air. 

It  chanced  that  she  was  to  be  put  in  the  way  of  her 
desire.  Once  a  week  there  came  to  the  school  a  Miss 
Waddington,  to  give  lessons  in  dancing.  A  pupil  of  the 
famous  Madame  Lemaire,  of  Park  Street,  Chelsea,  this 
lady  was  an  accomplished,  as  well  as  a  very  knowledge- 
able person.  From  the  first  she  had  been  greatly  at- 
tracted by  Mary  Kelly.  An  instructed  eye  saw  at  once 
that  the  girl  had  personality.  Not  only  was  it  expressed 
in  form  and  feature,  it  was  in  her  outlook,  her  ideas. 
There  was  a  rhythm  in  all  that  she  did,  a  poetry  in  the 
smallest  of  her  actions. 

This  girl  was  like  no  other.  And  Miss  Waddington 
grew  so  much  impressed  that  at  last  came  the  proud  day, 
when  by  permission  of  the  Misses  Lippincott,  Mary  was 
taken  to  Park  Street  to  the  academy,  in  order  that  her 
gifts  might  be  assessed  by  "Madame." 

The  opinion  of  that  famous  lady,  promulgated  in  due 
course,  caused  a  nine  days'  wonder  at  Broadwood  House. 
Madame  Lemaire,  it  seemed,  had  been  so  much  smitten 
by  the  lithe  charm  of  young  Miss  Kelly,  that  she  offered 
to  take  her  in  at  Park  Street  and  train  her  free  of 
charge  for  three  years. 

At  once  the  girl  grew  wild  to  take  her  chance.  It 

61 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


meant  escape  from  a  life  that  had  already  begun  to  cast 
long  shadows.  But  her  home  people  saw  the  thing  in 
a  very  different  light.  In  their  opinion  there  was  a 
wide  gulf  between  the  respectability  of  Broad  wood 
House  and  the  licentious  freedom  of  Chelsea.  Joe  and 
Eliza  were  at  one  with  Aunt  Annie  and  Aunty  Harriet 
in  saying  "No"  to  the  proposal. 

Mistress  Mary,  however,  was  now  rising  sixteen  with 
a  rapidly  developing  character  of  her  own.  Therefore 
she  did  not  let  the  strength  of  opposition  daunt  her. 
She  set  her  mind  firmly  upon  Park  Street  and  Madame 
Lemaire;  and  very  soon,  to  the  intense  surprise  and 
chagrin  of  "her  relations,"  she  had  contrived  to  get  the 
Misses  Lippincott  on  her  side. 

Very  luckily  for  Mary,  those  ladies  were  open-minded 
and  worldly  wise.  They  saw  that  the  career  of  a  highly- 
trained  dancer  had  prospects  far  beyond  those  of  a  half- 
educated  schoolmistress.  Mary  was  rapidly  becoming  an 
asset  of  Broadwood  House,  but  the  ladies,  although  per- 
haps a  little  dubious,  allowed  themselves  to  be  over- 
persuaded  by  Miss  Waddington  and  the  girl  herself.- 

There  followed  a  pretty  to-do.  Aunt  Annie  was  hor- 
rified. Such  a  career,  with  all  deference  to  the  Misses 
Lippincott,  hardly  sounded  respectable.  As  for  Aunty 
Harriet,  with  her  usual  energy,  she  made  first-hand  in- 
quiries in  regard  to  Madame  Lemaire.  She  found  that 
the  name  of  that  lady  stood  high  in  her  profession.  But 
alas!  one  thing  leads  to  another.  Aunty  Harriet,  who 
had  a  shrewd  knack  of  taking  long  views,  had  already 
espied  the  cloven  hoof  of  the  theater.  It  seemed  inevi- 
table that  such  a  girl  as  Mary  should  drift  towards  it. 

62 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

And  of  that  sinister  institution  Aunty  Harriet  had  a 
pious  horror. 

Therefore  she  opposed  Park  Street  sternly.  But  the 
girl  fully  knew  her  own  mind  and  meant  from  the  first 
to  have  her  way.  And  she  played  her  cards  so  well  that 
she  got  it  somehow.  No  doubt  it  was  judicious  aid  from 
an  influential  quarter  that  finally  carried  the  day.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  in  spite  of  all  sorts  of  gloomy  prophecies, 
Mary  was  able  to  accept  an  offer  which  was  to  change 
completely  the  current  of  her  life. 

VIII 

The  move  to  Chelsea  closed  an  epoch.  At  once  Mary 
found  herself  in  a  new  and  fascinating  world.  Part  of 
the  arrangement  with  Madame  Lemaire  was  that  she 
should  "live  in"  at  Park  Street,  and  have  freedom  to 
take  a  fourpenny  'bus  on  Sundays  to  Beaconsfield  Villas. 
This  was  greatly  to  Mary's  liking.  Chelsea,  as  she 
soon  discovered,  had  an  air  more  rarefied  than  Laxton; 
somehow  it  had  a  magic  which  opened  up  new  vistas. 
She  had  been  by  no  means  unhappy  at  Broadwood 
House,  her  foster-parents  had  treated  her  with  every 
kindness,  but  she  could  not  help  feeling  that  by  compari- 
son with  the  new  life,  the  old  one  was  rather  deadly. 

Of  course,  it  would  have  been  black  ingratitude  to 
admit  anything  of  the  kind.  Still,  the  fact  was  there. 
Park  Street  had  a  freedom,  a  gayety,  a  careless  bonhomie 
far  removed  from  the  austerity  of  Broadwood  House. 
Her  life  had  been  enlarged.  The  hours  were  long,  the 
work  was  hard,  but  her  heart  was  in  it,  and  the  novel 
charm  of  her  surroundings  was  a  perpetual  delight. 

63 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


A  month  of  Park  Street  brought  more  knowledge 
'of  the  world  than  a  lustrum  of  Broadwood  House. 
Madame  Lemaire's  establishment  was  a  famous  one, 
in  fact  the  resort  of  fashion ;  to  the  perceptive  Mary  the 
people  with  whom  she  had  now  to  rub  shoulders  had 
real  educational  value. 

The  girl  was  one  of  a  number  of  articled  pupils,  who 
were  taught  dancing  in  order  to  teach  it  again.  With  all 
of  these  she  got  on  well.  Immensely  likeable  herself, 
she  had  an  instinct  for  liking  others.  And  she  was  now 
among  a  rather  picked  lot,  a  little  Bohemian  perhaps  in 
the  general  range  of  their  ideas,  but  friendly,  amusing, 
and  at  heart  "good  sorts."  Madame  knew  her  business 
thoroughly.  She  seldom  erred  as  to  the  character  and 
capacity  of  those  whom  she  chose  to  help  her  in  return 
for  a  valuable  training. 

Some  of  the  girls  who  passed  through  her  hands  found 
their  way  on  to  the  stage.  Distinguished  names  were 
among  them.  Indeed,  the  atmosphere  of  Park  Street 
was  semi-theatrical.  Dancing,  elocution,  singing,  physi- 
cal culture,  and  fencing  were  the  subjects  taught  at 
Madame  Lemaire's  academy. 

Mary  remained  nearly  three  years  at  Park  Street.  In 
that  time  she  came  on  amazingly.  Awake  from  the  first 
to  a  knowledge  of  her  gifts,  she  was  secretly  determined 
to  use  them  in  the  carving  out  of  a  career.  Broadwood 
House  had  sown  the  seed  of  ambition;  under  the  able 
tutelage  of  Madame  Lemaire  it  was  to  bear  fruit.  Stimu- 
lated by  the  outlook  of  her  new  friends,  soon  she  began 
to  feel  the  lure  of  a  larger  life.  She  craved  for  self- 
expression  through  the  emotions,  and  all  her  energies 
were  bent  upon  the  satisfaction  of  a  vital  need. 

64 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

In  the  early  stages  she  owed  much  to  Madame  Le- 
maire,  who  approved  her  ambition  to  the  full.  Here  was 
a  talent,  and  that  lady  did  all  in  her  power  to  fit  a  brilliant 
pupil  for  the  field  best  suited  to  it.  Unknown  to  Aunty 
Harriet,  who  still  cherished  the  idea  of  a  hospital  at  the 
age  of  twenty-one,  unknown  to  Aunt  Annie,  who  would 
have  been  horrified,  unknown  to  Beaconsfield  Villas, 
Mary  with  the  future  always  before  her,  set  to  work 
under  the  aegis  of  Madame  to  make  her  dreams  come 
true. 

After  many  diligent  months,  in  the  course  of  which  a 
singularly  dainty  pair  of  feet  were  reenforced  by  a  very 
serviceable  soprano,  there  came  the  day  when  she  was 
given  her  chance.  A  theatrical  manager,  who  made  a 
point  of  attending  the  annual  display  of  Madame's  pupils 
at  the  Terpsichorean  Hall,  was  so  struck  by  her  abilities 
that  he  offered  her  an  engagement.  It  was  true  that  it 
was  merely  to  understudy  in  the  provinces  a  small  part 
in  a  musical  comedy.  But  it  was  a  beginning,  if  an  humble 
one,  and  its  acceptance  was  strongly  advised.  It  meant 
the  opening  of  the  magic  door  at  which  so  many  are 
doomed  to  knock  in  vain.  This  girl  should  go  far;  but 
if  the  new  life  proved  too  hard,  Madame  would  be  more 
than  willing  for  her  to  return  to  Park  Street  as  a  mem- 
ber of  her  staff. 

Alarums  and  excursions  followed.  Before  a  decision 
could  be  made  the  girl  felt  in  honor  bound  to  consult 
godmother  Harriet.  So  intensely  had  that  lady  the  wel- 
fare of  Mary  at  heart,  that  she  never  failed  to  visit 
Park  Street  once  a  week  when  in  London.  There  was 
a  very  real  bond  of  sympathy  between  them,  which  time 
had  deepened.  Yet  hitherto  Mary  had  not  ventured 

65 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


to  disclose  the  scope  and  nature  of  her  plans.  Alas! 
she  had  now  to  launch  a  bolt  from  the  blue. 

The  blow  fell  one  Wednesday  afternoon  when  Aunty 
Harriet  came  as  usual  to  drink  a  weekly  cup  of  tea  at 
Park  Street  with  her  adopted  niece.  Aunt>  Harriet, 
although  she  prided  herself  upon  being  a  woman  of  the 
world,  was  unable  to  entertain  such  an  idea  for  a  mo- 
ment. Years  ago  it  had  been  decided  that  Mary  was  to 
be  a  hospital  nurse.  But  Mary,  now  a  strong-willed 
creature  of  eighteen  had  made  her  own  decision.  For 
many  a  month  she  had  been  working  hard,  unknown  to 
her  friends,  in  order  to  seize  the  chance  when  it  came. 
'  Moreover,  she  felt  within  herself  that  she  had  found  her 
true  vocation. 

Aunty  Harriet  took  a  high  tone.  Three  years  before 
she  had  met  defeat  at  the  hands  of  this  headstrong  young 
woman  in  alliance  with  the  Misses  Lippincott.  In  secret, 
and  for  a  reason  only  known  to  herself,  she  had  never 
ceased  to  deplore  that  fact.  She  made  up  her  mind  that 
she  would  not  be  overcome  a  second  time.  But  she  was 
quite  unable  to  shake  the  girl's  determination.  And  there 
was  Madame  Lemaire  to  reckon  with.  Indeed,  that 
worldly-wise  person  seconded  her  clever  pupil  in  the 
way  the  Broadwood  House  ladies  had.  Nor  was  it  luck 
altogether  that  for  a  second  time  brought  the  girl  such 
powerful  backing  when  she  needed  it  most.  Behind  the 
engaging  air  of  simple  frankness  was  a  will  that  nothing 
could  shake.  C 

The  end  of  the  matter  was  that  two  powerful  natures 
came  perilously  near  the  point  of  estrangement.  Both 
had  fully  made  up  their  minds.  That  memorable  Wednes- 
day afternoon  saw  a  veritable  passage  of  arms,  in  the 

66 


AUNT  ANNIE  AND  AUNTY  HARRIET 

course  of  which  Mary,  her  back  to  the  wall,  at  last  threw 
down  the  gage  of  battle. 

Her  blunt  refusal  to  submit  to  dictation  came  as  a 
shock  to  Harriet,  whose  distress  seemed  out  of  all  pro- 
portion to  its  cause.  But  to  her  the  project  was  so 
demoralizing  that  she  fought  against  it  tooth  and  nail. 
She  enlisted  Aunt  Annie,  now  very  infirm  and  less  active 
as  a  power,  and  the  girl's  home  people  at  Beaconsfield 
Villas.  But  all  opposition  was  vain.  The  young  Amazon 
had  cast  the  die  for  better  or  for  worse.  To  Harriet's 
consternation  she  took  the  manager's  offer.  Disaster 
was  predicted.  There  were  heavy  hearts  in  Laxton,  but 
the  heaviest  of  all  was  at  Bridport  House,  Mayfair. 


CHAPTER  III 
FLOWING  WATER 


ON  a  spring  afternoon,  Mary  at  ease,  novel  in  lap, 
let  her  mind  flow  over  the  years  in  their  pass- 
ing. Four  had  gone  by  since  she  had  defied 
her  family,  in  order  to  embrace  a  career,  which  in  their 
view  was  full  of  peril.  But  in  spite  of  that,  so  far  she 
had  escaped  disaster.  And  fortune  had  been  amazingly 
kind  in  the  meantime. 

On  the  table  near  Mary's  elbow  were  five  cups  on  a 
tray,  and  opposite,  also  at  ease,  with  her  hands  behind 
her  shrewd  head,  was  Milly  Wren.  Mary  had  just  begun 
to  share  a  very  comfortable  flat  with  Milly  and  Milly's 
mother. 

Milly  herself,  in  Mary's  opinion,  was  more  than 
worthy  of  her  surroundings.  Loyal,  sympathetic,  full 
of  courage,  she  had  served  a  far  longer  apprenticeship 
to  success  than  Mary  had.  She  had  "made  good"  in  the 
face  of  heavy  odds. 

Milly  had  not  a  great  talent.  Force  of  character  and 
singleness  of  aim  had  brought  her  to  the  top,  and  only 
these,  as  she  well  knew,  would  keep  her  there.  But  with 
Mary  it  was  a  different  story.  All  sorts  of  fairies  had 
attended  her  birth.  She  had  every  gift  for  the  career 

68 


FLOWING  WATER 


she  had  chosen,  moreover,  she  had  them  in  abundance. 
Milly,  who  had  gone  up  the  ladder  a  step  at  a  time,  would 
have  been  more  than  human  had  she  not  envied  her 
friend  the  qualities  she  wore  with  the  indifference  of  a 
regular  royal  queen. 

The  clock  on  the  chimney-piece  struck  four. 

"I'm  feeling  quite  excited,"  Milly  suddenly  remarked. 

From  the  depths  of  the  opposite  chair  came  the  note 
which  for  six  months  now  had  cast  a  spell  upon  London. 

"He  mustn't  know  that,"  laughed  Mary.  "Dignity, 
my  child,  touched  with  hauteur,  is  the  prescription  for  a 
marquis.  At  least  that's  according  to  the  book  of  the 
words."  And  she  gayly  waved  the  novel  she  had  neg- 
lected for  nearly  an  hour. 

"Oh,  Sonny,"  said  Milly  Wren,  "I  wasn't  thinking  of 
him.  I  was  thinking  of  the  friend  he  is  bringing,  who 
is  simply  dying  to  know  you." 

Mary  knew  this  was  quite  true,  for  that  was  Milly's 
way. 

"Oh,  is  he!"  If  the  tone  was  disdain,  its  sting  was 
masked  by  gentle  irony  and  humor.  These  airs  and 
graces  didn't  make  enemies,  they  so  frankly  belonged 
to  the  wonderful  Mary  Lawrence — her  name  in  the 
theater.  That  which  might  have  been  mere  petulance  in 
a  nature  thinner  of  texture,  became  with  her  a  half- 
royal  impatience  for  the  more  trivial  aspects  of  the 
human  comedy. 

"But  I  want  to  see  him,"  persisted  Milly.  "Sonny 
thinks  no  end  of  him." 

"Then  I'm  sure  he's  nice." 

"Why  do  you  think  so?"  Milly  was  a  little  intrigued 
by  the  warmth  of  the  words. 

69 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"Because  Lord  Wrexham  is  charming." 

Milly  laughed.  The  naive  admiration  was  unexpected, 
the  slightly  too  respectful  air  was  puzzling.  Milly  her- 
self was  so  blase  in  regard  to  the  peerage  that  such  an 
attitude  of  mind  seemed  almost  provincial.  Yet  she 
would  have  been  the  first  to  own  that  it  was  the  only 
thing  about  her  enigmatic  friend  which  suggested  any- 
thing of  the  kind. 

"Sonny  says  he  raves  about  you." 

"It's  his  funeral."  The  laugh  was  honestly  gay.  "He'll 
be  very  disappointed,  poor  lad." 

"Don't  fish." 

"I  never  fish  in  shallow  waters,  Miss  Wren." 

"You  are  the  most  shameless  angler  I  know.  But 
you  do  it  so  beautifully  that  people  don't  realize  what 
you  are  at." 

"Unconsciously — say  unconsciously,"  came  a  flash 
from  the  opposite  chair. 

"So  I  used  to  think.  Before  I  really  knew  you  I 
thought  everything  you  said  and  did  just  happened  so. 
But  now  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  you  have  not  thought 
everything  out  beforehand." 

"Don't  make  me  out  a  horror." 

"Anyway  you  are  much  the  cleverest  creature  I  have 
ever  met.  You  are  so  deep  that  there  is  no  fathoming 
you.  Somehow  you  are  not  the  least  ordinary  in  any- 
thing." 

Mary  abruptly  brought  the  conversation  back  to 
Sonny  and  his  friend.  The  latter,  it  seemed,  had  first 
gazed  on  the  famous  Miss  Lawrence  in  New  York,  at 
the  Pumpernickel  Theater,  the  previous  year. 

"An  American?" 

70 


FLOWING  WATER 


"No,"  said  Milly.  "But  he's  seen  a  lot  of  life  out 
West." 

Before  other  questions  could  rise  to  Mary's  lips,  Mrs. 
Wren  came  in.  Milly's  mother  was  an  elderly  lady  who 
had  been  on  the  stage.  In  the  first  flight  of  her 
profession,  life  had  given  her  many  a  shrewd  knock, 
but  in  the  process  she  had  picked  up  a  considerable 
knowledge  of  the  world  and  its  ways.  She  lived  for 
Milly,  in  whom  her  every  thought  was  centered,  for  in 
the  daughter  the  mother  lived  again.  Intensely  am- 
bitious for  her,  Mrs.  Wren  was  a  little  inclined  to  resent 
the  intrusion  within  the  nest  of  a  bird  of  such  dazzling 
plumage  as  Mary  Lawrence.  At  the  same  time  that 
honest  woman  well  knew  that  her  daughter  had  more 
to  gain  than  she  had  to  lose  by  sharing  a  roof  with  such 
a  supremely  attractive  stable  companion. 

Mrs.  Wren  found  it  very  difficult  to  place  Mary 
Lawrence.  In  ideas  and  outlook,  in  the  face  she  showed 
to  the  world,  she  was  far  from  being  a  typical  member 
of  her  calling  as  the  good  lady  knew  it.  As  Mrs.  Wren 
reckoned  success,  this  girl  had  won  it  on  two  continents 
almost  too  abundantly,  but  she  seemed  to  hold  it  very 
cheap.  Perhaps  it  had  been  gained  too  easily.  Milly's 
mother,  rather  jealous,  rather  ambitious  as  she  was, 
could  hardly  find  it  in  her  heart  to  say  it  was  undeserved, 
but  Mary  Lawrence  took  the  high  gifts  of  fortune  so 
much  for  granted,  almost  as  if  they  were  a  birthright, 
that  the  mother  of  her  friend,  remembering  the  long 
years  of  her  own  thornily-crowned  servitude,  and  Milly's 
hard  struggle  "to  arrive,"  could  not  help  a  feeling  of 
secret  envy. 

71 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"His  lordship  coming  to  tea?"  said  Mrs  Wren,  with 
a  demure  glance  at  the  five  cups  on  the  tray. 

None  knew  so  well  as  she  that  his  lordship  was  coming 
to  tea.  She  had  made  elaborate  preparations  in  toilette 
and  confectionery  in  order  to  receive  him.  But  the 
phrase  rose  so  histrionically  to  her  lips  that  she  simply 
couldn't  resist  it.  Somehow  it  made  such  a  perfect 
entrance,  for  Milly's  mother  carried  a  sense  of  the 
theater  into  private  life. 

It  would  have  been  heartless  of  Milly,  who  belonged 
•to  another  generation,  to  have  uttered  the  words  on  her 
tongue.  And  those  words  were,  "You  know  perfectly 
well  that  Sonny  is  coming." 

"He  said  he  was,"  Milly's  reply  was  given  with  a 
patient  smile  that  concealed  an  infinity  of  boredom. 
Her  mother,  fussy,  trite,  rather  exasperating,  had  never 
quite  learned  amid  all  her  jousts  with  the  world,  to 
acquire  the  golden  mean.  There  were  times  when  she 
sorely  tried  her  clever  and  ambitious  daughter,  whose 
patience  was  little  short  of  angelic. 

"What's  the  name  of  the  friend  he  is  bringing?" 

"Mr.  Dinneford." 

"Not  another  lord?"  The  tone  of  Mrs.  Wren  had 
a  tiny  note  of  disappointment. 

"A  rich  commoner,"  said  Milly  with  a  laugh.  "At 
least  Sonny  says  he  will  be  one  of  the  richest  men  in 
England  when  his  uncle  dies.  His  uncle,  I  believe,  is  a 
great  swell." 

"I  don't  doubt  it,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Wren. 


72 


FLOWING  WATER 


ii 

An  electric  bell  was  heard  to  buzz. 

"They  are  here,"  said  Mrs.  Wren  in  a  tone  with  a 
thrill  in  it. 

A  neat  parlor  maid  announced  "Lord  Wrexham,  Mr, 
Dinneford,"  and  two  stalwart  young  men  entered  cheer- 
ily. They  were  hearty  upstanding  fellows,  curiously 
alike  in  manner,  appearance,  dress,  yet  in  the  thousand 
and  one  subtleties  of  character  immutably  different. 
But  this  was  not  a  moment  for  the  fine  shades.  They 
carne  into  the  room  unaffectedly,  without  shyness,  and 
warmly  took  the  hands  of  welcome  that  were  offered 
them. 

Wrexham,  a  subaltern  of  the  Pinks  of  three  years' 
standing,  was  an  attractive  but  rather  irresolute  young 
man.  He  knew  that  he  was  perilously  near  forbidden 
ground.  If  not  exactly  in  the  toils  of  an  infatuation, 
the  charms  of  Milly  were  growing  day  by  day  upon 
an  impressionable  mind.  Fully  content  as  yet  to  live 
in  the  moment,  a  wiser  young  man  might  have  begun, 
to  pay  the  future  some  little  attention. 

As  for  the  lively,  headstrong,  unconventional  Jack 
Dinneford,  at  present  at  a  loose  end  in  London,  to  whom 
Wrexham  himself  had  been  appointed  as  a  sort  of  un- 
official bear-leader  by  the  express  desire  of  Bridport 
House,  that  warrior  was  on  a  voyage  of  discovery.  In 
common  with  half  the  males  of  his  age  in  the  metropolis 
he  was  already  in  the  thrall  of  the  wonderful  Princess 
Bedalia.  In  the  opinion  of  connoisseurs  she  was  the 
only  one  of  her  kind;  for  the  past  two  hundred  nights 
she  had  played  "to  capacity"  at  the  Frivolity  Theater, 

73 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


and  even  Jack  Dinneford,  who  in  one  way  or  another 
had  seen  a  goodish  bit  of  the  Old  World  and  the  New, 
could  not  repress  an  exquisite  little  thrill  as  her  highness 
rose  with  rare  politeness  to  receive  him. 

"She's  even  more  stunning  than  I  guessed,"  was  the 
thought  in  Jack's  mind  at  the  moment  of  presentation. 
He  could  almost  feel  the  magnetism  in  her  finger  tips. 
She  was  so  alive  in  every  nerve  that  it  would  have  called 
for  no  great  power  of  imagination  to  detect  vibration 
all  round  her. 

"I  feel  greatly  honored  in  meeting  you,"  said  the 
young  man  with  transparent  honesty.  He  was  no 
subscriber  evidently  to  the  maxim,  "Language  was  given 
us  to  conceal  our  thoughts."  Somehow  she  couldn't  help 
liking  him  for  it. 

"The  honor  is  mine."  The  response  was  so  ready,  the 
humor  behind  it  so  genuine,  that  they  both  laughed 
whole-heartedly  and  became  friends  on  the  spot.  There 
was  no  nonsense  about  Princess  Bedalia,  and  the  same 
applied  to  the  brown-faced  clear-eyed  owner  of  the 
fanciful  scarf  pin. 

The  neat  parlor  maid  brought  tea.  Wrexham,  after 
a  little  amiable  chaffing  of  Mrs.  Wren,  whom  he  had 
met  on  at  least  six  occasions,  provided  Milly  with  tea 
and  a  macaroon,  took  the  like  for  himself,  and  sat  be- 
side her  without  a  care  in  the  wide  world.  She  was 
forbidden  fruit;  thus  to  frail  humanity  in  its  present 
phase  she  conveyed  an  idea  of  Paradise.  Such  a  view 
was  quite  absurd,  allowing  even  for  the  fact  that  Milly 
was  an  engaging  creature,  with  a  good  heart,  a  ready 
tongue,  a  rather  special  kind  of  prettiness,  and  a  par- 
ticularly shrewd  head. 

74 


FLOWING  WATER 


Jack  Dinneford  on  the  opposite  sofa  had  stronger 
warrant  for  his  emotions.  This  girl  whom  he  had  first 
seen  in  New  York  before  the  news  of  a  great  inheritance 
had  come  to  him,  whom  he  had  since  viewed  ten  times 
from  the  stalls  of  the  Frivolity  Theater,  was  a  person- 
ality. There  was  no  doubt  about  that.  And  as  he  dis- 
covered at  once  their  minds  marched  together.  They 
saw  men  and  events  at  the  same  angle.  A  phrase  of 
either  would  draw  forth  an  instant  counterpart;  in  five 
minutes  they  had  turned  the  whole  universe  into  mock- 
ery, but  without  letting  go  of  the  fact  that  they  were 
complete  strangers  colloguing  for  the  first  time. 

Mrs.  Wren  withdrew  presently  on  the  pretext  that 
she  had  letters  to  write.  A  very  pleasant  hour  quickly 
sped.  Each  of  these  four  people  was  in  the  mood  to 
enjoy.  Life  in  spite  of  its  hazards,  was  no  bad  thing 
at  the  moment.  Wrexham,  a  thorough  gentleman,  was 
an  immensely  likeable  young  man.  And  while  he  basked 
in  present  happiness  a  certain  resolution  began  to  take 
shape  in  his  mind. 

As  for  Jack  Dinneford  at  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
his  thoughts  followed  a  humbler  course.  But  he  was 
an  elemental,  a  very  dangerous  fellow  if  once  he  began 
to  play  with  ideas.  At  present  he  suffered  from  the 
drawback  of  being  no  more  than  the  nephew  of  his  uncle; 
therefore  his  sensations  were  not  exactly  those  of 
Wrexham,  who  was  a  natural  caster  of  the  handker- 
chief. But  in  this  fatal  hour  Jack  was  heavily  smitten. 

He  had  met  few  girls  in  his  twenty-four  years  of 
existence.  In  his  naif  way  he  confessed  as  much  to  Miss 
Lawrence.  She  was  amused  by  the  confession  and  led 
him  to  make  others.  This  was  easy  because  he  liked 

75 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


talking  about  himself,  that  is  to  say,  with  such  a  girl 
as  Mary  Lawrence  inciting  him  humorously  to  reveal 
the  piquant  details  of  a  life  not  without  its  adventures,  he 
would  have  had  to  be  much  less  primitive  than  he  was 
to  have  resisted  the  lure  of  the  charmer. 

She  was  unaffectedly  interested.  She  differed  from 
Mr.  Dinneford  inasmuch  as  she  had  met  many  young 
men.  Therefore,  her  heart  was  not  worn  on  her  sleeve 
for  daws  to  peck  at.  But  he  was  a  new  type,  and  she 
confessed  gayly  to  Milly  as  soon  as  he  had  gone,  she 
found  him  very  amusing. 

in 

So  much  happened  in  the  crowded  month  that  fol- 
lowed, that  at  London  Bridge  the  Thames  might  be 
said  to  be  in  spate.  The  two  young  men  were  often 
at  the  theater,  and  now  and  again  Mary  and  Milly, 
chaperoned  by  Mrs.  Wren,  would  accept  an  invitation 
to  supper  at  a  restaurant.  Then  there  were  the  happy 
hours  these  four  people  were  able  to  snatch  from  their 
various  duties,  which  they  spent  under  the  trees  in  the 
Park.  These  were  golden  days  indeed,  but — the  shadow 
of  the  policeman  could  already  be  seen  creeping  up. 
The  senior  subaltern  had  been  constrained  one  fine 
morning  to  take  Wrexham  so  far  into  his  confidence  as 
to  inform  him  with  brutal  precision,  that  if  a  man  in 
the  Household  Cavalry  marries  an  actress,  he  leaves  the 
regiment. 

The  young  man  was  intensely  annoyed.  Wisdom  was 
not  his  long  suit,  and  although  an  excellent  fellow 
according  to  his  lights,  right  at  the  back  was  the  arro- 

76 


FLOWING  WATER 


gance  of  old  marquisate.  His  answer  to  the  senior  sub- 
altern was  to  arrange  a  most  agreeable  up-river  ex- 
cursion for  the  following  Sunday.  On  returning  late 
in  the  evening  to  the  flat,  Milly  was  in  rather  a  flutter. 

Mary,  who  had  been  one  of  the  merry  party,  was 
troubled.  She  had  certain  instincts  which  went  very 
deep,  and  these  warned  her  of  breakers  ahead.  She 
had  a  great  regard  for  Milly,  and  the  more  she  knew 
of  Wrexham  the  better  she  liked  him.  But  she  saw 
quite  clearly  that  difficulties  must  arise  if  the  thing  went 
on,  and  that  very  powerful  opposition  would  have  to 
be  faced  in  several  quarters. 

Moreover,  she  had  now  her  own  problem  to  meet; 
Jack  had  begun  to  force  the  pace.  And  Mary,  who 
had  a  sort  of  sixth  sense  in  these  matters,  had  already 
felt  this  to  be  an  inconvenience.  From  the  first  she 
had  found  him  delightful.  Day  by  day  this  feeling  had 
grown.  An  original,  with  a  strong  will  and  a  keen  sense 
of  humor,  he  differed  from  his  friend  Wrexham  inas- 
much that  he  knew  his  own  mind.  He  returned  from  the 
river  fully  determined  to  marry  Mary  Lawrence. 

Perhaps  this  heroic  resolve  may  have  been  forced 
upon  him  by  the  knowledge  of  other  Richmonds  in 
the  field.  Mary  was  famous  and  admired.  It  savored 
of  presumption  for  such  a  one  as  himself,  in  receipt 
of  a  modest  two  thousand  a  year  from  his  kinsman,  the 
Duke,  to  butt  in  where  men  far  richer  were  content  to 
walk  delicately.  But  he  was  "next  in"  at  Bridport 
House,  he  was  heir  to  a  great  name,  therefore,  at  the 
lowest  estimate,  he  was  a  quite  considerable  parti.  This 
fact  must  stand  his  excuse,  although  he  was  far  too 

77 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


astute  to  make  it  one  in  the  difficult  game  he  was  about 
to  play. 

Jack  was  not  afflicted  with  subtlety  in  any  form,  he 
was  not  even  a  close  observer,  but  he  understood  well 
enough  that  it  was  going  to  be  a  man's  work  to  persuade 
Mary  Lawrence  to  marry  him.  She  had  an  immense 
independence,  to  which,  of  course,  she  was  fully  en- 
titled, a  wide  field  of  choice,  and  under  the  delightfully 
amusing  give-and-take  which  endeared  her  to  Bohemia 
was  a  fastidious  reserve  which  somehow  hinted  at 
other  standards.  Even  allowing  for  a  lover's  partiality 
this  girl  was  to  cut  to  a  pattern  far  more  imposing  than 
Milly  Wren.  Her  qualities  were  positive,  whereas  Milly 
had  prettiness  merely,  a  warm  heart,  a  factitious  charm. 
However,  as  soon  as  this  sportsman  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  tackle  the  stiffest  fence  that  a  Nimrod  has  to 
face,  he  decided  at  once  that  the  hour  had  come  to 
harden  his  heart  and  go  at  the  post  and  rails  in  style. 

The  next  evening,  as  he  strolled  with  Mary  under  the 
trees,  he  may  have  been  thinking  in  metaphor,  when  he 
let  his  eyes  dwell  on  the  riders  in  the  Row. 

"How  jolly  they  look!"  he  said.  And  then  at  the 
instance  of  a  concrete  thought — "By  Jove,  an  idea! 
Tomorrow  morning,  if  I  job  a  couple  of  gees,  will  you 
come  for  a  ride?" 

The  response  was  a  ready  one.  "I  should  love  to, 
if  you  are  not  afraid  to  be  seen  with  an  absolute  duffer." 

"That's  a  bargain.  But  they  may  be  screws,  as  there 
doesn't  seem  enough  decent  ones  to  go  round  at  this 
time  of  the  year." 

"I  know  nothing  about  horses,"  was  the  laughing 
reply,  "except  just  enough  not  to  look  a  hired  horse 

78 


FLOWING  WATER 


in  the  knees.  And  the  worse  my  mount  the  better  for 
me,  at  least  it  reduces  my  chance  of  biting  the  tan." 

"I  expect  you  are  a  good  deal  better  than  you  admit." 

She  was  woman  enough  to  ask  why  he  should  think 
so. 

"You  have  the  look  of  a  goer,"  he  said,  as  his  eye 
sought  involuntarily  the  long  slender  line  of  a  frame 
all  suppleness,  delicacy,  and  power. 

"Wait  till  tomorrow.  In  the  meantime  I  warn  you 
that  you're  almost  certain  to  be  disgraced  in  the  sight 
of  the  town." 

"Let's  risk  it  anyway,"  said  the  young  man  delightedly. 

In  a  very  few  minutes,  however,  Mary  seriously 
regretted  a  rash  promise.  They  had  only  gone  a  few 
yards  farther,  Jack  still  inclined  to  exult  at  the  pact  into 
which  he  had  lured  her,  when  both  were  brought  up 
short  by  a  sudden  clear  "Hello!"  from  the  other  side 
of  the  rails. 

Jack  had  been  hailed  by  a  couple  of  long,  lean  young 
women  with  mouse-colored  hair,  on  a  couple  of  long, 
lean  mouse-colored  horses.  They  were  followed  at  a 
respectful  distance  by  a  very  smart  groom  on  a  good- 
looking  chestnut.  The  set  of  the  close-fitting  black 
habits  and  the  absolute  ease  of  the  wearers  denoted  the 
expert  horse-woman. 

"Hello,  Madge— hello,  Blanche!"  The  casual  greet- 
ing was  punctuated  by  a  wave,  equally  casual,  of  the 
young  man's  hand. 

As  the  two  riders  went  slowly  by  they  let  their  eyes 
rest  upon  Mary.  The  look  she  received  did  not  amount 
to  a  stare,  but  it  had  a  cool  impertinence  which  some-1 
how  roused  her  fighting  instinct.  Unconsciously  she 

79 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


gave  it  back.  On  both  sides  was  a  frank  curiosity 
discreetly  veiled,  but  the  honors,  if  honors  there  were 
in  the  matter,  were  with  the  occupants  of  the  saddle. 
Somehow  that  seemed  so  clearly  to  have  been  the  place 
for  generations  of  these  lean  young  women  with  their 
rigidity  of  line,  their  large  noses,  their  cool  appraising 
air  of  which  they  were  wholly  unconscious. 

Who  are  they?  was  their  reaction  upon  Mary  Law- 
rence. 

Who  is  she?  was  her  reaction  upon  these  horse- 
women. 

"A  couple  of  my  cousins."  The  young  man  carelessly 
answered  a  question  that  Mary  was  too  proud  to  ask. 

IV 

Mary's  riding  had  been  confined  to  a  few  lessons 
shared  with  Milly  at  the  Brompton  School  of  Equitation, 
and  Milly  was  urged  to  make  a  third  on  the  morrow. 
Mrs.  Wren  felt  it  to  be  the  due  of  the  proprieties  that 
she  should  do  so,  but  Milly  herself,  apart  from  the  fact 
that  she  was  shy  of  appearing  in  the  Row,  was  quite  con- 
vinced that  it  would  not  be  the  act  of  "a  sport"  to  over- 
look the  ancient  maxim,  "Two  are  company,  three 
a  crowd."  Therefore  the  invitation  was  declined.  And 
this  discreet  action  on  the  part  of  Milly  gave  Fate  the 
opportunity  for  which  it  had  seemed  to  be  looking  for 
some  little  time  past. 

It  was  about  twenty  minutes  to  eleven  in  the  fore- 
tioon  of  a  perfect  first  of  June  that  Jack  Dinneford  rode 
up  gayly  to  the  flat  in  Broad  Place,  leading  a  horse 
very  likely-looking,  but  warranted  quiet.  It  was  a 

80 


FLOWING  WATER 


fair  presumption  that  the  guarantee  covered  the  fact 
of  its  disposition,  since  it  had  made  the  perilous  journey 
from  the  jobmaster's,  three  doors  out  of  Park  Lane, 
and  across  the  'No  Man's  Land  yclept  Hyde  Park 
Corner,  that  terrible  and  trappy  maze,  without  a  sus- 
picion of  mental  stress. 

Jack's  best  hunting  voice  ascended  to  an  open  window 
of  the  second  story.  The  complete  horsewoman,  in 
every  detail  immaculate,  came  on  to  the  little  balcony 
of  Number  16,  Victoria  Mansions. 

"What  a  gorgeous  day!" 

"A  ripper!" 

If  excitement  there  was  on  the  side  of  either,  self- 
mastery  concealed  it.  Yet  an  inconvenient  pressure  of 
emotion  was  shared  by  both  just  then.  In  spite  of  a  lib- 
eral share  of  self-confidence  and  a  will  under  strong 
control  Mary  could  hardly  refrain  from  the  hope  that 
she  was  not  going  to  make  a  perfect  fool  of  herself. 
As  soon  as  she  beheld  the  upstanding  chestnut  below 
with  its  slender  legs  and  thin  tail,  she  winged  an  in- 
voluntary prayer  to  Allah  that  there  were  no  tricks  in 
its  repertory  unbecoming  a  horse  and  a  gentleman. 
As  for  Jack,  the  presence  of  all  the  horses  in  the  world 
would  not  have  excited  him.  It  was  not  in  him  to  be 
excited  by  things  of  that  kind,  that  is  to  say,  it  was 
part  of  his  religion  not  to  be  excited  by  them;  all  the 
same  there  was  a  genuine,  nay,  almost  terrible  thrill  in 
his  heart  this  morning. 

In  the  course  of  a  rather  wakeful  night  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  ''to  come  to  the  'osses''  in  sober  verity. 
To  the  best  of  his  present  information  the  gods,  in  the 

81 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


absence  of  the  unforeseen,  would  discuss  the  matter 
privately  about  twelve  o'clock. 

"Blanche  and  Marjorie  will  have  something  to  look 
at,"  was  the  proud  thought  in  the  mind  of  the  young 
man  as  the  complete  Diana,  fit  to  greet  Aurora  and  her 
courses,  emerged  from  the  Otis  elevator  and  took  the 
front  of  Broad  Place  with  beauty. 

"I  wish  these  clothes  were  a  little  less  smart,  and  not 
quite  so  new,"  was  the  first  thought  in  the  mind  of 
Diana.  "I  am  sure  they  are  both  of  them  'Cats,' "  was 
the  thought  which  followed  close  upon  its  heels.  Until 
that  hour  it  had  never  been  her  lot  to  harbor  such  vain 
companions.  This  gay  spirit  to  whom  the  fairies  had 
been  kind  had  always  seemed  to  breathe  a  larger,  a 
diviner  air.  Such  self -consciousness  shamed  her;  but 
after  all  those  two  with  their  old  habits  and  their  odd 
perfection  were  more  to  blame  than  she. 

Truth  to  tell,  in  the  last  seventeen  hours  a  subtle, 
rather  horrid  change  had  taken  place  in  her.  Up  till 
six  o'clock  the  previous  evening  she  had  always  been 
nobly  sure  of  herself,  regally  self-secure.  Always  when 
she  had  measured  herself  against  others  of  her  age 
and  sex  she  had  had  a  feeling  of  having  been  born  to  the 
purple.  Somewhere,  deep  down,  she  had  seemed  to 
have  illimitable  reserves  to  draw  upon  when  the  crea- 
tures of  her  own  orbit  had  forced  her  to  a  reluctant 
comparison.  In  all  her  dealings  with  her  peers,  she  had 
felt  that  she  had  a  great  deal  in  hand.  But  Marjorie 
and  Blanche,  whoever  Marjorie  and  Blanche  might  be, 
had  seemed  to  alter  all  that  with  a  glance  of  their 
ironical  eyes. 

Jack  fixed  her  in  the  saddle  of  the  tall  horse  and 

82 


FLOWING  WATER 


lengthened  her  stirrup  with  quite  a  professional  air, 
while  Milly  and  her  mother  watched  the  proceedings 
in  a  rather  thrilled  silence  from  the  balcony  of  Number 
Sixteen.  Their  minds  were  dominated  by  a  single 
thought,  which,  however,  bore  one  aspect  in  the  mind 
of  Mrs.  Wren,  another  in  the  mind  of  the  faithful  Milly. 

"She  is  set  on  marrying  him?" — Mrs.  Wren. 

"He  is  so  nice,  I  hope  he  won't  disappoint  her?"— 
Milly  the  faithful. 

The  cavalcade  started.  As  if  no  such  people  as 
Marjorie  and  Blanche  existed  in  the  world,  Mary  waved 
the  yellow-gloved  hand  of  an  excited  schoolgirl  to  the 
balcony  of  Victoria  Mansions.  Jack  accompanied  it 
with  an  upward  glance  and  a  gravely-lifted  hat. 

In  the  maelstrom  of  promiscuous  vehicles  which 
makes  Knightsbridge  a  thoroughfare  inimical  to  man, 
Jack  took  charge  of  the  good-looking  hireling.  With 
solemn  care  he  piloted  the  upstanding  one  and  his  rather 
anxious  rider  into  the  calm  of  Albert  Gate. 

"I  hope  you  are  comfortable,"  he  found  time  to  say; 
moreover,  he  found  time  to  say  it  so  nicely  and  sincerely, 
almost  as  if  his  only  hope  of  happiness,  here  and  here- 
after, depended  upon  the  answer,  that  the  answer  came 
promptly  in  the  form  of  a  gay  "Yes,"  although  had  she 
been  quite  honest  she  would  have  said  she  had  never 
felt  less  comfortable  in  her  life.  Her  horse  was  such  a 
mountain  of  a  fellow,  that  she  might  have  been  perched 
on  the  top  of  a  very  old-fashioned  velocipede.  Then  the 
saddle  was  very  different  from  the  one  at  the  riding 
school.  It  had  much  less  room  and  fewer  points  d'appu* 
to  offer.  As  soon  as  her  knee  tried  to  grip  the  pommel 
she  knew  that  she  must  not  hope  to  get  friends  with  it. 

83 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


She  had  embarked  on  a  very  rash  adventure.  And  if 
she  didn't  make  a  sorry  exhibition  of  herself  in  the  eyes 
of  All  London,  including  those  two,  she  would  have 
cause  to  thank  her  private  stars,  who,  to  give  them 
their  due,  had  certainly  looked  after  her  very  well  so  far. 

"It's  very  sporting  of  her,"  said  Expert  Knowledge 
to  Jack  Dinneford. 

"I  hope  the  gee  won't  play  the  fool,"  said  Jack  Dinne- 
ford to  Expert  Knowledge. 


Hardly  had  they  entered  the  Row,  when  Providence, 
of  malice  prepense,  as  it  seemed,  threw  them  right  across 
the  path  of  the  enemy.  Cousin  Marjorie  and  Cousin 
Blanche,  walking  their  horses  slowly  along  by  the  rails, 
were  within  a  very  few  yards.  Moreover,  they  were 
coming  towards  them.  Mary,  aided  by  the  sixth  sense 
given  to  woman,  was  aware  of  a  subtle  intensity  of  gaze 
upon  her,  even  before  she  could  trace  the  source  of  its 
origin.  She  could  feel  it  upon  her — upon  her  and  every- 
thing that  was  hers,  from  the  crown  of  her  rather  too 
modish  hat  to  the  tip  of  her  tall  friend's  fetlock. 

"Good  morning,  Jack,"  said  a  clear,  strong  voice. 

"Hello,"  the  tone  of  Jack  was  amazingly  casual — 
"here  you  are  again." 

There  was  a  moment's  maneuvering,  in  the  course  of 
which  three  pairs  of  feminine  eyes  met  in  challenge, 
and  then  Cousin  Blanche  and  Cousin  Marjorie,  smart 
groom  and  all,  passed  on  without  offering  a  chance  of 
coming  to  closer  quarters.  Their  tactics  had  been  cal- 
culated so  nicely  that  it  was  impossible  to  say  whether 

84 


FLOWING  WATER 


discourtesy  was  or  was  not  intended.  But  there  was  a 
subtle  air  about  these  ironically  self-confident  young 
women  which  prevented  Mary  from  giving  them  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt. 

For  a  moment  she  felt  inclined  to  rage  within.  And 
then  she  bit  her  lip  and  laughed.  A  moment  later  a 
sudden  peck  of  the  tall  horse  told  her  that  it  would  be 
wise  for  the  present  to  give  him  an  undivided  mind. 
Soon,  however,  Cousin  Marjorie  and  Cousin  Blanche 
were  forgotten  in  the  delights  and  the  perils  of  the 
discreet  canter  into  which  she  found  herself  launched. 
It  was  a  perfect  morning  for  the  Row.  The  play  of 
the  sun  on  the  bright  leaves,  the  power  of  its  rays 
softened  by  a  breeze  from  the  east,  the  sense  of  rapid 
motion,  the  kaleidoscope  of  swiftly  changing  figures 
through  which  they  passed,  filled  her  with  a  zest  of  life, 
a  feeling  of  high  romance  which  left  no  room  for  smaller 
and  meaner  affairs.  And  the  stride  of  the  tall  horse, 
as  soon  as  she  got  used  to  it,  was  such  a  thing  of  delight 
in  itself,  that  she  even  forgot  the  strange  saddle  and 
her  general  fears. 

They  rode  for  an  enchanted  hour.  And  somehow,  in 
the  course  of  it,  the  life  forces  became  more  insurgent. 
Somehow  they  deepened,  expanded,  grew  more  imperious. 
Jack  was  a  real  out-of-doors  man,  who  believed  that 
hunting,  shooting,  field  sports,  and  fresh  air  were  the 
highest  good.  His  look  of  lordly  health,  mingled  with 
a  charmingly  delicate  protectiveness,  appealed  to  her  in  a 
very  special  way.  For  some  weeks  she  had  known  that  she 
was  beginning  to  like  him  perilously  much.  But  it  was 
not  until  she  had  returned  rather  tired  and  rather  hot 

85 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


to  Victoria  Mansions,  had  had  a  delicious  bath,  and  a 
very  good  luncheon  indeed  that  she  began  at  last  to 
realize  that  she  was  fairly  up  against  the  acute  problem 
of  Jack  Dinneford. 


CHAPTER  IV 

BRIDPORT  HOUSE 

X 

IN  the  meantime  Cousin  Marjorie  and  Cousin 
Blanche  enjoyed  their  ride  very  much.  It  was  the 
one  thing  they  really  did  enjoy  in  London. 

They  were  two  ordinary  young  women,  yet  even  so 
late  in  the  Old  World's  history  as  the  year  1913,  their 
own  private  cosmos  could  not  quite  make  up  its  mind 
to  regard  them  in  that  light.  Cousin  Marjorie  and 
Cousin  Blanche  had  surprisingly  little  to  say  for  them- 
selves. They  were  modest,  unassuming  girls,  without 
views  or  ideas,  very  proper,  very  dull,  absurdly  conven- 
tional; in  the  eyes  of  some  people  as  plain  as  the  pro- 
verbial pikestaff,  passably  good-looking  in  the  sight  of 
others ;  in  fact,  a  more  commonplace  pair  of  young  women 
would  have  been  hard  to  find  anywhere,  yet  deep  in  the 
hearts  of  the  Ladies  Dinneford  was  the  sure  faith  that 
the  world  at  large  did  not  subscribe  to  any  such  opinion. 

It  was  not  merely  that  they  rode  rather  well.  They 
passed  other  members  of  their  sex  in  the  Row  that 
morning  who  rode  quite  as  well  as  themselves.  No, 
proficiency  in  the  saddle,  the  one  accomplishment  they 
could  boast,  of  which  they  were  unaffectedly  modest,  was 
far  from  explaining  the  particular  angle  at  which  the 

87 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


world  chose  to  view  them.  Not  that  in  any  way  they 
were  feted  or  acclaimed.  As  far  as  the  vast  majority 
of  their  fellow-creatures  were  concerned  they  were  not 
people  to  look  at  twice.  But  here  and  there  a  glance 
of  recognition  or  curiosity  would  greet  them,  winged  by 
a  smile,  now  of  mere  interest,  now  of  an  irony  faintly 
perceptible. 

Life  had  been  very  kind  to  Cousin  Marjorie  and 
Cousin  Blanche,  yet  they  did  not  look  conspicuously 
happy.  With  both  hands  it  had  lavished  upon  them  its 
material  best,  but  the  gifts  of  fortune  were  taken  as 
a  matter  of  mere  personal  right.  Providence  owed  it 
to  the  order  of  things  they  stood  for.  Far  from  being 
grateful,  they  were  a  little  bored  by  its  attentions. 
Moreover,  these  young  women  had  not  learned  to  regard 
people  to  whom  the  fairies  had  been  less  kind  with  either 
insight  or  sympathy.  Their  judgments  were  objective, 
therefore  they  were  a  little  hard,  a  little  lacking  in  tol- 
erance. 

II 

"The  stage !"  said  Majorie  with  a  straight-lipped  smile, 
a  rather  famous  part  of  her  importance. 

"You  think  so?"  said  Blanche  sleepily.  But  she  was 
not  at  all  sleepy,  else  she  would  not  have  been  able  to 
handle  the  Tiger,  a  recent  purchase,  in  the  way  she  was 
doing  at  the  moment. 

"No  mistaking  it,  my  dear." 

"Good-looking,  though,"  lisped  the  somnolent  Blanche, 
giving  the  Tiger  a  very  shrewd  kick  with  a  roweled  heel. 
"Reminds  me  of  some  one." 

The  Tiger,  worried  by  a  bit  that  he  didn't  like,  and 

88 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


greatly  affronted  by  the  heel  of  his  new  mistress,  which 
he  liked  still  less,  then  began  to  behave  in  a  way  which 
for  some  little  time  quite  forbade  any  further  discussion 
of  the  subject. 

For  the  rest  of  the  morning,  however,  it  was  never 
far  from  the  minds  of  these  ladies.  Two  or  three  times 
they  caught  sight  in  the  distance  of  Jack  and  his  charge. 
A  striking-looking  girl,  but  she  didn't  in  the  least  know 
how  to  ride.  And  somehow  from  that  fact  Blanche  and 
Marjorie  seemed  to  draw  spiritual  consolation. 

At  twelve  o'clock  they  left  the  Park.  The  policeman 
at  the  gate  pulled  himself  together  and  regarded  them 
respectfully.  An  elderly  lady  in  a  high-hung  barouche 
of  prehistoric  design,  drawn  by  a  superb  pair  of  horses 
and  surmounted  by  a  romantic-looking  coachman  and 
footman,  called  out  to  them  in  a  remarkably  strident 
voice  as  they  passed  her,  "I  am  coming  to  luncheon." 

"Bother !"  said  Marjorie  to  Blanche. 

"Bother!"  said  Blanche  to  Marjorie. 

They  went  along  Park  Lane,  as  far  as  Mount  Street, 
turned  up  that  bleak  thoroughfare,  took  the  second  turn- 
ing to  the  right,  and  finally  entered  the  courtyard  of  the 
imposing  residence  known  as  Bridport  House.  Before 
its  solemn  portals  they  dismounted  with  the  help  of  the 
smart  groom.  In  the  act  of  doing  so  they  encountered 
a  tall,  rather  distinguished-looking  man,  who  was  coming 
down  the  steps.  He  was  about  forty-two,  clean-shaven, 
with  sandy  hair;  and  his  clothes  had  an  air  of  such 
extreme  correctness  as  to  suggest  that  they  had  been 
donned  for  a  special  occasion. 

The  departing  visitor  bowed  elaborately  to  the  two 
ladies,  but  each  returned  the  greeting  with  an  abbre- 

89 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


viated  nod,  backed  by  an  intent  smile  peculiarly  her  own. 
There  might  be  courtesy  carried  to  the  verge  of  homage 
on  the  one  side,  but  on  the  other  was  an  aloofness  cold 
and  quizzical. 

As  soon  as  Blanche  and  Marjorie  had  gained  the 
ample  precincts  of  Bridport  House  each  looked  demurely 
at  the  other,  and  then  yielded  a  laugh,  which  seemed  to 
mean  a  great  deal  more  than  it  expressed. 

"Been  to  see  papa,  I  suppose,"  said  Blanche,  as  she 
waddled  duck  fashion  towards  a  white  marble  staircase 
of  grandiose  design,  whose  cinquecento  air  could  not 
save  it  from  a  slight  suspicion  of  the  rococo. 

"My  dear!"  came  Majorie's  crescendo. 

Again  they  looked  at  each  other,  again  their  laughter 
snarled  and  crackled  not  unpleasantly. 

At  one  o'clock  luncheon  was  announced.  Ten  minutes 
later  a  well-bathed  and  carefully  re-clothed  Marjorie 
and  a  Blanche  to  match  entered  an  enormous  dining- 
room,  which,  in  spite  of  its  profusion  of  servants  in 
livery,  had  the  air  of  a  crypt. 

"Good  morning,  father.  Very  pleasant  to  see  you 
down." 

Each  word  of  Blanche  was  charmingly  punctuated  by 
a  little  pause,  which  might  have  been  taken  for  filial 
regard  by  those  who  heard  it.  But  the  rather  acid- 
looking  gentleman,  who  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
with  a  face  like  a  cameo  a  little  out  of  drawing,  and  a 
bowl  of  arrowroot  in  front  of  him,  paid  such  slight 
attention  to  Blanche  that  she  might  not  have  spoken 
at  all. 

"Good  morning,  Aunt  Charlotte,"  said  Marjorie  coolly, 
taking  up  her  own  cue.  She  surveyed  the  other  oocu- 

90 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


pants  of  the  table  with  a  quietly  ironical  eye.  And  then 
as  she  seated  herself  at  her  leisure,  as  far  as  she  could 
get  from  the  object  of  her  remarks,  she  proceeded  in  the 
peculiar  but  remarkably  agreeable  voice  which  she  had 
in  common  with  her  father  and  sisters :  "Odd  we  should 
run  into  you  coming  out  of  the  Park." 

"Why  odd?"  said  Aunt  Charlotte,  an  elderly,  large- 
featured  blonde,  whose  theory  of  life  was  as  far  as  pos- 
sible not  to  cherish  illusions  on  any  subject.  "I  always 
go  in  at  twelve,  you  always  come  out  at  twelve.  Nothing1 
odd  about  it.  Thank  you !" 

"Thank  you,"  meant,  "Yes,  I  will  take  claret."  It 
also  meant,  "Get  on  with  your  luncheon,  Marjorie,  and 
don't  be  absurd.  Life  is  too  complicated  nowadays  for 
such  small  talk  as  yours  to  interest  an  intelligent  person." 

Aunt  Charlotte,  if  not  consciously  rude,  was  by  nature 
exceedingly  dominant.  For  twenty-five  years,  in  one 
way  or  another,  Bridport  House  had  known  her  yoke. 
She  was  the  Duke's  only  surviving  sister,  and  she  lived 
in  Hill  Street,  among  the  dowagers.  Her  status  was  nil, 
but  her  love  of  power  was  so  great  that  she  had  gained 
an  uncomfortable  ascendancy  in  the  family  councils. 
While  free  to  admire  Aunt  Charlotte's  wisdom,  which 
was  supposed  to  be  boundless,  the  Dinneford  ladies  dis- 
like her  in  the  marrow  of  their  bones.  But  Fate  had 
played  against  them.  Their  father  had  been  left  a 
widower  with  a  young  family,  and  from  the  hour  of  his 
loss  his  sister  had  taken  upon  herself  to  mother  it.  She 
had  done  so  to  her  own  satisfaction,  but  the  objects  of 
her  regard  bore  her  no  gratitude.  From  Sarah, 
who  was  thirty-nine,  to  Marjorie,  who  was  twenty-eight, 
they  were  ever  ready  to  try  a  fall  with  Aunt  Charlotte. 

91 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


As  for  their  father,  he  had  an  active  dislike  of  her. 
He  had  cause,  no  doubt.  More  than  once  he  had  tried 
to  break  the  spell  of  her  dominion,  but  somehow  it  had 
always  proved  too  strong  for  him.  It  was  not  that  he 
was  a  weak  man  altogether,  but  there  is  a  type  born  to 
female  tyranny,  an  affair  of  the  stars,  of  human  destiny. 
Charlotte  despised  her  brother.  In  her  view  he  was  a 
lath  painted  to  look  like  iron,  but  insight  into  character 
was  not  her  strength.  She  owed  her  position  in  the 
family  to  dynamic  power,  to  force  of  will;  but  in  her 
own  mind  it  was  always  ascribed  to  the  fact  that  she 
acted  invariably  from  the  highest  motives. 

"Muriel  not  here,"  said  the  conversational  Marjorie, 
looking  across  the  table  to  Sarah. 

"Gone  to  the  East  End,  I  believe,  to  one  of  her  com- 
mittees." 

It  would  have  been  nearer  the  truth  for  the  eldest 
flower,  who  was  dealing  with  a  recalcitrant  fragment  of 
lobster  in  a  masterful  manner,  to  have  said  that  Muriel 
had  gone  to  luncheon  at  Hayes  with  the  Penarths.  But 
Sarah,  whc  did  not  approve  of  Muriel,  and  still  less  of 
the  Penarths,  was  content  with  a  general  statement  whose 
flagrant  inaccuracy  somehow  crystallized  her  attitude 
towards  them  both.  Muriel  had  become  frankly  impos- 
sible. The  higher  expediency  could  no  longer  take  her 
seriously. 

But  there  are  degrees  of  wisdom,  even  among  the  elect. 
Sarah's  place  was  assured  at  Minerva's  Court,  but  Mar- 
jorie and  Blanche  were  wiser  perhaps  in  matters  equine 
than  in  other  things.  Where  angels  feared  to  tread 
Blanche,  at  any  rate,  for  reasons  of  her  own,  had  some- 

92 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


times  been  known  to  butt  in.  A  classical  instance  was 
about  to  be  furnished. 

"Do  tell  me."  Blanche  suddenly  looked  Sarah 
straight  in  the  eyes.  "Has  Sir  Dugald  been  to  see 
father?" 

There  was  a  long  moment's  pause  in  which  Sarah 
maintained  a  stranglehold  upon  the  lobster,  while  Lady 
Wargrave  and  the  Duke,  who  knew  they  were  being 
"ragged"  by  a  past  mistress  in  the  art,  glared  daggers 
down  the  table. 

"I  believe  so,"  said  Sarah  in  an  exceedingly  dry  voice, 
followed  by  a  hardly  perceptible  glance  at  the  servants. 

ra 

Over  the  coffee  cups,  in  the  solemn  privacy  of  the 
blue  drawing-room,  the  Dinneford  ladies  grew  a  little 
less  laconic.  They  were  in  a  perfect  hurricane  of  great 
events.  Even  they,  who  seldom  use  two  words  if  one 
would  suffice,  had  to  make  some  concession  to  the  pres- 
sure of  history. 

"His  mother,  I  understand,"  said  Aunt  Charlotte,  seat- 
ing herself  massively  in  the  center  of  her  floridly 
Victorian  picture,  "kept  the  village  shop  at  Ardna- 
leuchan." 

"Then  I've  bought  bull's-eye  peppermints  of  her,"  said 
Sarah,  with  a  touch  of  acid  humor  which  somehow 
became  her  quite  well. 

"But  it's  so  serious" — Lady  Wargrave  stirred  her 
coffee.  "Still  he's  been  given  the  Home  Office — so  she 
thinks  she  moves  with  the  times,  no  doubt." 

93 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"Has  been  given  the  Home  Office?"  said  Blanche, 
suddenly  achieving  an  air  of  intelligence. 

"The  papers  say  so,"  said  Sarah  dryly.  "But  I  don't, 
think  that  excuses  him." 

"Or  Muriel,"  interpolated  Aunt  Charlotte  with  venom. 
"What  did  your  father  say  to  the  man  ?" 

"He  was  deplorably  rude,  I  believe — even  for  father. 
He  said  the  man  had  the  hide  of  a  rhinoceros,  so  obvi- 
ously he  had  tested  it." 

"All  very  amazing.  It  is  charity  to  assume  that  Muriel 
is  out  of  her  mind." 

"One  can't  be  sure,"  said  Sarah  weightily.  "She  says 
he  has  such  a  good  head  that  one  day  he  must  be  Prime 
Minister.  After  all,  she  will  be  a  Prime  Minister's 
wife!" 

"But  a  Radical  Prime  Minister's  wife!" 

"He  may  rat,"  said  Sarah,  with  judicious  optimism. 

"He  may,"  said  Lady  Wargrave,  looking  down  her 
long  nose.  "But  there  never  was  a  matter  in  which  I 
felt  less  hopeful.  What  does  your  father  think?" 

"The  man's  a  red  rag.  Don't  you  remember  the 
shameful  way  he  attacked  poor  father  on  the  Land 
Question  two  years  ago  ?  What  was  it  he  called  him  in 
the  House  of  Commons?" 

"  'The  Great  Panjandrum,  with  little  round  button  on 
top,' "  quoted  the  solemn  Marjorie,  whose  chief  social 
asset  was  an  amazing  memory. 

"And  after  that  he  dares  to  come  here!"  Aunt  Char- 
lotte quivered  majestically.  "Didn't  your  father  kick 
him  downstairs?" 

"I  think  he  would  have  done — but  for  his  infirmity," 
said  Sarah  judicially. 

94 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


"I  had  forgotten  his  gout,  poor  man.  At  least,  I 
hope  he  ordered  the  servants  to  throw  the  creature  into 
the  street." 

"One  hardly  does  that,  does  one? — with  his  Majesty's 
Secretaries  of  State,"  said  Blanche,  whose  sleepy  voice 
had  an  odd  precision  which  made  each  word  bite  like  an 
acid. 

Aunt  Charlotte  hooded  her  eyes  like  a  cobra  to  look 
at  Blanche.  But  she  didn't  say  anything.  Only  experts 
could  handle  Blanche,  and  even  these  must  abide  the 
whim  of  the  goddess  opportunity. 

"After  all,  why  fuss  ?"  continued  Blanche  with  a  muted 
laugh  which  had  the  power  of  annoying  all  the  other 
ladies  extremely.  "If  one  has  to  marry  one  might  as 
well  marry  a  Prime  Minister." 

This  was  such  a  sublime  expression  of  the  obvious, 
that  even  Lady  Wargrave,  who  contested  everything  on 
principle,  was  dumb  before  it  Blanche  was  therefore 
able  to  retire  in  perfect  order  to  the  comatose,  her  natural 
state.  But  in  the  next  moment  she  reemerged,  so  that 
a  little  private  thunderbolt  she  had  been  diligently  nursing 
through  the  whole  luncheon  might  shake  the  rather 
strained  peace  of  the  blue  drawing-room.  She  was  quite 
sure  that  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  launch  it  when  the 
moment  came.  A  sudden  pause  in  the  great  topic  of 
Muriel's  affaire  told  her  it  had  now  arrived. 

"We  saw  Jack  riding  with  that  girl."  So  sleepy  was 
the  voice  of  Blanche  as  it  made  this  announcement  that 
it  seemed  a  wonder  she  could  keep  awake. 

"What  girl?"  Aunt  Charlotte  walked  straight  into 
Blanche's  little  trap. 

95 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"Oh,  you  didn't  know."  Blanche  suppressed  a  yawn. 
"It's  a  rather  long  story." 

Still  it  had  to  be  told.  And  Blanche,  just  able  to  keep 
awake,  told  it  circumstantially.  The  Tenderfoot — the 
heir's  own  name  for  himself,  which  Blanche  made  a  point 
of  using  in  conversation  with  Aunt  Charlotte  because 
that  lady  considered  it  vulgar — had  been  seen  at  the 
Savoy  with  a  girl,  he  had  been  seen  in  the  Park  with  a 
girl,  he  had  been  seen  motoring  with  a  girl;  in  fact,  he 
had  been  going  about  with  a  girl  for  several  weeks. 

"And  you  never  told  me,"  said  Lady  Wargrave  with 
the  air  of  a  tragedy  queen.  She  looked  from  Blanche 
to  Sarah,  from  Sarah  to  Marjorie.  A  light  of  sour 
sarcasm  in  the  eye  of  the  eldest  flower  was  all  the  com- 
fort she  took  from  the  survey, 

"Who  is  the  girl?    Tell  me." 

Blanche  inclined  to  think  an  actress=  But  she  was  not 
sure. 

"Inquiries  will  have  to  be  made  at  once."  Already 
Aunt  Charlotte  was  a  caldron  of  energy,  "Steps  will 
have  to  be  taken.  It  is  the  first  I  have  heard  of  it  But 
I  feel  I  ought  to  have  been  told  sooner." 

Blanche  fearlessly  asked  why. 

"Why!"  Aunt  Charlotte  gave  a  little  snort.  At  such 
a  moment  mere  words  were  futile.  Then  she  said, 
"I  shall  go  at  once  to  your  father." 

"But  what  can  he  do  ?" 

"Do?"  Aunt  Charlotte  gave  a  second  little  snort. 
Mere  words  again  revealed  their  limitations. 

"Yes?"  Blanche  placidly  pursued  the  Socratic 
method,  to  the  increasing  fury  of  Aunt  Charlotte. 

96 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


"He  can  tell  him  what  he  thinks  of  him  and  threaten 
to  cut  off  supplies." 

"Much  he'll  care  for  that !"  The  cynicism  of  Blanche 
revolted  Aunt  Charlotte. 

That  lady,  whose  forte,  after  all,  was  plain  common- 
sense,  knew  that  Blanche  was  right.  But  in  spite  of 
that  knowledge,  the  resolute  energy  which  made  her  so 
much  disliked  impelled  her  to  go  at  once  to  lay  the 
matter  before  the  head  of  the  house. 

Lady  Wargrave  found  her  brother  in  the  smaller 
library,  long  dedicated  by  custom  to  his  sole  use.  It  was 
one  of  the  less  pretentious  and  therefore  least  uncom- 
fortable rooms  in  a  house  altogether  too  large  to  be 
decently  habitable. 

For  many  years  the  Duke  had  been  at  the  mercy  of  a 
painful  malady  which  had  taken  all  the  pleasure  out  of 
his  life.  He  was  nearly  seventy  now,  a  man  strikingly 
handsome  in  spite  of  a  sufferer's  mouth  and  eyes  weary 
with  pain  and  cynicism.  When  his  sister  entered  the 
room  she  found  him  deployed  on  an  invalid  chair,  the 
Quarterly  Review  on  a  book-rest  in  front  of  him,  and  a 
wineglass  containing  medicine  at  his  elbow.  And  to 
Lady  Wargrave's  clear  annoyance,  a  tall,  gray-haired, 
rather  austere-looking,  but  decidedly  handsome  woman, 
stood  by  the  Adam  chimney-piece,  a  bottle  in  one  hand, 
a  teaspoon  in  the  other. 

"Perhaps  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  leave  us,  Mrs. 
Sanderson,"  said  Lady  Wargrave,  in  a,  tone  which 
sounded  needlessly  elaborate. 

Harriet  Sanderson,  without  so  much  as  a  temporary 
relaxation  of  muscle  of  her  strong  face,  withdrew  at 

97 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


once  very  silently  from  the  room.  The  bottle  and  the 
teaspoon  went  with  her. 

As  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  Lady  Wargrave  said, 
"Johnnie,  once  more  I  feel  bound  to  protest  against  the 
presence  of  the  housekeeper  in  the  library.  If  the  state 
of  your  health  really  calls  for  such  attention  I  will 
engage  a  trained  nurse." 

The  Duke  took  up  the  Quarterly  Review  with  an  air 
of  stolid  indifference. 

"I'll  get  one  at  once,"  she  persisted.  "There's  a 
capable  person  who  nursed  Mary  Devizes." 

The  Duke  seemed  unwilling  to  discuss  the  question, 
but  at  last,  yielding  to  pressure,  he  said  in  a  tone  of  dry 
exasperation : 

"Mrs.  Sanderson  is  quite  capable  of  looking  after  me. 
She  understands  my  ways,  I  understand  hers." 

"No  one  doubts  her  competence."  The  rejoinder  was 
tart  and  hostile.  "But  that  is  hardly  the  point.  The 
library  is  not  the  place  for  the  housekeeper." 

"I  choose  to  have  her  here.  In  any  case  it  is  entirely 
my  affair." 

"People  talk." 

"Let  'em." 

"It's  an  old  quarrel,  my  friend."  Growing  asperity 
was  in  the  voice  of  Charlotte.  "You  know  my  views 
on  the  subject  of  Mrs.  Sanderson.  We  none  of  us  like 
the  woman.  Considering  the  position  she  holds  she  has 
always  taken  far  too  much  upon  herself." 

The  Duke  shook  his  head.  "I  must  be  the  judge  of 
that,"  he  said. 

"But  surely  it  is  a  matter  for  the  women  of  your 
family." 

98 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


"With  all  submission,  it's  a  matter  for  me.  I  find  the 
present  arrangement  entirely  satisfactory,  and  I  don't 
recognize  the  right  of  anyone  to  interfere." 

The  Duke's  tone  grated  like  a  file  upon  his  sister's 
ear.  This  was  an  ancient  quarrel  that  in  one  form  or 
another  had  been  going  on  for  very  many  years.  The 
housekeeper  at  Buntisford  and  more  recently  at  Bridport 
House  had  been  a  thorn  in  the  flesh  of  Charlotte  almost 
from  the  day  her  sister-in-law  died,  but  the  Duke  had 
always  been  Mrs.  Sanderson's  champion.  Time  and 
again  her  overthrow  had  been  decided  upon  by  the  ladies 
of  the  Family,  but  up  till  now  the  perverse  determina- 
tion of  his  Grace  had  proved  too  much  for  them  and  all 
their  careful  schemes. 

They  had  reached  the  usual  impasse.  Therefore,  for 
the  time  being,  Charlotte  had  once  more  to  swallow  her 
feelings.  Besides,  other  matters  were  in  the  air,  matters 
of  an  interest  more  vital  if  of  a  nature  less  permanent. 

As  a  preliminary  it  was  necessary  to  glance  at  Muriel 
and  her  vagaries,  before  coming  to  grips  with  the  even 
more  momentous  affair  which  had  just  been  brought  to 
Lady  Wargrave's  notice.  In  answer  to  his  sister's, 
"What  have  you  said  to  Maclean?"  the  Duke,  who 
had  swallowed  most  of  the  formulas  and  had  digested 
them  pretty  thoroughly,  expressed  himself  characteristic- 
ally. 

"I  told  him  that  before  I  could  even  begin  to  consider 
the  question  he  would  have  to  rat." 

"Was  that  wise?"  said  Charlotte,  frowning.  "Why 
commit  oneself  to  the  possibility  of  having  to  take  the 
man  seriously?" 

Her  brother  laughed.  "He's  a  very  sharp  fellow.  A 

99 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


long  Scotch  head,  abominably  full  of  brains.  If  we  could 
get  him  on  our  side  perhaps  he  might  pull  us  together." 

"You  know,  of  course,  that  his  mother  kept  the  village 
shop  at  Ardnaleuchan  ?" 

"So  he  tells  me." 

"Do  you  like  the  prospect  of  such  a  son-in-law  ?" 

"Frankly,  Charlotte,  I  don't.  A  tiresome  business  at 
the  best  of  it.  But  there  it  is." 

"Ought  one  to  treat  it  so  coolly?" 

His  Grace  laid  the  Quarterly  Review  on  the  book- 
rest  and  plucked  a  little  peevishly  at  the  tuft  of  hair  on 
his  chin. 

"The  times  are  changing,  you  see.  We  are  on  the 
eve  of  strange  things.  Still,  I  took  the  liberty  of  telling 
him  that  as  long  as  he  remained  a  Radical  and  went  up 
and  down  the  country  blackguarding  me  and  mine,  I 
should  refuse  to  know  him." 

"And  what  said  our  fine  gentleman?" 

"He  was  amused.  Whether  he  takes  the  hint  remains 
to  be  seen.  In  any  event  it  commits  us  to  nothing." 

Charlotte  shook  a  dubious  head.  "You're  shaping  for 
a  compromise,  my  friend.  And  in  my  view  this  is  not 
a  case  for  one." 

"If  she  is  set  on  marrying  the  brute  what's  going  to 
stop  her?" 

The  question  was  -meant  for  a  poser  and  a  poser  it 
proved.  Somehow  it  left  no  ground  for  argument. 
Therefore,  without  further  preface  or  apology,  Lady 
Wargrave  turned  to  a  matter  of  even  more  vital  conse- 
quence. 


100 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


IV 

By  an  odd  chain  of  events,  Jack  Dinneford  was  heir 
apparent  to  the  dukedom  of  Bridport.  In  the  course 
of  a  brief  twelve  months  two  intervening  lives  had 
petered  out.  One  had  been  Lyme,  the  Duke's  only 
surviving  son,  who  at  the  age  of  thirty-five  had  been 
killed  in  a  shooting  accident — a  younger  son,  never  a 
good  life,  had  died  some  years  earlier — the  other  had 
been  the  Duke's  younger  brother,  who  six  months  ago 
had  died  without  male  issue.  The  succession  in  conse- 
quence would  now  have  to  pass  to  an  obscure  and  rather 
neglected  branch  of  the  family,  represented  by  a  young 
man  of  twenty-four,  the  son  of  a  Norfolk  parson. 

Jack's  father,  at  the  time  of  his  death,  had  held  a 
family  living.  A  retiring,  scholarly  man,  he  had  never 
courted  the  favors  of  the  great,  and  the  great,  little 
suspecting  that  their  vicarious  splendors  might  one  day 
be  his,  had  paid  him  little  attention.  Blessed  with 
progeny  of  the  usual  clerical  abundance  and  without 
means  apart  from  his  stipend,  the  incumbent  of  Wickley- 
on-the-Wold  had  been  hard  set  to  educate  his  children 
in  a  manner  becoming  their  august  lineage.  Even  Jack, 
the  eldest  of  five,  had  to  be  content  with  four  years  at 
one  of  the  smaller  public  schools.  It  was  true  that 
afterwards  he  had  the  option  of  Oxford  or  Sandhurst, 
but  by  the  time  the  young  man  had  reached  the  age  of 
nineteen  he  had  somehow  acquired  an  independence  of 
character  which  did  not  take  kindly  to  either. 

One  fine  day,  with  a  spare  suit  of  clothes  and  a 
hundred  pounds  or  so  in  his  pocket,  he  set  out  in  the 
most  casual  way  to  see  the  world,  and  to  make  his  for- 

101 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


tune.  He  went  to  Liverpool,  shipped  before  the  mast 
as  an  ordinary  seaman  for  the  sake  of  the  experience, 
and  made  the  voyage  round  the  Horn  to  San  Francisco. 
For  the  next  two  years  he  prospected  up  and  down  the 
America's  earning  a  living,  picking  up  ideas,  and  enlarg- 
ing his  outlook  by  association  with  all  sorts  and  condi- 
tions of  men,  and  finally  invested  all  the  capital  he  could 
scrape  together  in  a  business  in  Vancouver. 

After  eighteen  months  of  the  new  life  came  the  news 
of  his  father's  death.  The  brothers  and  sisters  it  seemed 
were  rather  better  provided  for  than  there  had  been 
reason  to  expect.  At  any  rate,  Mabel  and  Iris  would 
have  a  roof  over  their  heads,  Bill  had  passed  into  Sand- 
hurst, and  Frank  was  at  Cambridge.  Therefore  Jack, 
little  guessing  what  Fate  had  in  store,  decided  to  stay 
as  he  was,  in  the  hope  that  in  a  few  years  he  would  have 
made  his  pile.  He  had  a  taste  for  hard  work,  and  the 
new  land  offered  opportunities  denied  by  the  old. 

Some  months  later  he  received  an  urgent  summons 
to  return  home.  He  had  suddenly  and  unexpectedly 
become  next  of  kin  to  the  Duke  of  Bridport.  The  news 
was  little  to  the  young  man's  taste.  He  was  very  loth  to 
give  up  a  growing  business  for  a  life  of  parasitic  idleness 
under  the  aegis  of  the  titular  great.  But  the  circum- 
stances seemed  to  make  it  imperative.  The  powers  that 
were  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  it  was  his  bounden 
duty  to  go  into  training  at  once.  He  must  fit  himself 
for  the  dizzy  eminence  to  which  it  had  pleased  Provi- 
dence to  call  him. 

Sadly  enough  the  tiro  sold  out,  returned  to  England, 
and  in  due  course  reported  himself  at  Bridport  House. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  been  there.  He  was  such 

102 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


a  distant  kinsman  that  he  had  never  taken  the  ducal 
connection  seriously. 

The  family's  reception  of  the  Tenderfoot — his  own 
humorous  name  for  himself — amused  him  considerably, 
yet  at  the  same  time  it  filled  him  with  a  subtle  annoyance. 
Five  fruitful  years  out  West  had  made  him  an  iconoclast. 
He  saw  with  awakened  eyes  the  arid  and  sterile  pom- 
posities which  were  doing  their  best  to  put  the  old  land 
out  of  the  race.  Bridport  House  was  going  to  spell 
boredom  and  worse  for  Jack  Dinneford. 

Still  the  Duke,  as  became  a  man  of  the  world,  soon  got 
to  the  root  of  the  trouble,  and  having  the  welfare  of 
a  time-honored  institution  at  heart,  was  at  pains  to  deal 
with  the  novice  tactfully.  All  the  same,  he  was  far 
from  being  pleased  by  the  tricks  of  Providence.  But 
he  made  the  young  man  an  allowance  of  two  thousand  a 
year,  and  exhorted  him  not  to  get  into  mischief ;  and  the 
Dinneford  ladies,  who  were  prepared  to  be  kind  to  the 
Tenderfoot  and  to  be  more  amused  by  his  "originality" 
than  they  confessed  to  each  other,  chose  some  rooms  for 
him  in  Arlington  .Street,  looked  after  his  general  welfare, 
and  began  to  make  plans  for  the  future  of  Bridport 
House.  Aunt  Charlotte  took  him  at  once  under  an  un- 
gracious wing,  and  found  him  a  bear-leader  in  the  person 
of  her  nephew  Wrexham,  a  subaltern  of  the  Pinks,  a 
picturesque  young  man,  reputed  a  paragon  of  all  'the 
Christian  virtues,  and  a  martyr  to  a  sense  of  duty. 

From  this  model  of  discretion  the  tiro  soon  received  a 
hint.  Cousin  Sarah  owned  to  thirty-eight  in  the  glare 
of  Debrett,  Cousin  Muriel  had  other  views  apparently, 
but  there  remained  Cousin  Blanche  and  Cousin  Marjorie 

103 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


— the  heir  could  take  his  choice,  but  the  ukase  had  gone 
forth  that  one  of  them  it  must  be. 

The  Tenderfoot  did  not  feel  in  a  marrying  mood  just 
then,  but  he  had  chivalry  enough  not  to  say  so  to  his 
mentor,  who  as  the  messenger  of  Eros  began  to  disclose 
quite  a  pretty  turn  of  humor.  It  was  not  seemly  to  offer 
advice  in  such  a  delicate  matter,  but  Blanche  was  a 
nailer  to  hounds,  although  she  never  kept  awake  after 
dinner,  while  Marjorie's  sphere  was  church  decoration  in 
times  of  festival,  in  the  course  of  which  she  generally 
had  an  affaire  with  a  curate. 

Face  to  face  with  a  problem  which  in  one  way  or 
another  was  kept  ever  before  his  eyes,  the  poor  Tender- 
foot seemed  to  feel  that  if  wive  he  must  in  the  charmed 
circle,  and  the  relentless  Wrexham  assured  him  that  it 
was  a  solemn  duty,  perhaps  there  was  most  to  be  said 
for  Cousin  Marjorie.  She  was  not  supremely  attractive 
it  was  true.  The  Dinneford  girls,  one  and  all,  were 
famous  up  and  down  the  island  for  a  resolute  absence  of 
charm.  And  the  Dinneford  frontispiece,  imposing 
enough  in  the  male,  when  rendered  in  terms  of  the  female 
somehow  seemed  to  lack  poetry.  Still  Cousin  Marjorie 
was  not  yet  thirty  and  her  general  health  was  excellent. 

The  heir  had  now  been  settled  in  Arlington  Street  six 
months.  And  with  nothing  in  the  world  to  do  but  learn 
to  live  a  life  which  threatened  to  bore  him  exceedingly, 
time  began  to  hang  upon  his  hands.  Moreover,  the 
prospect  of  having  presently  to  lead  Cousin  Marjorie  to 
the  altar  merely  increased  a  sense  of  malaise.  Here 
was  an  arbitrary  deepening  of  the  tones  of  a  picture 
which  heaven  knew  was  dark  enough  already.  For  a 
modern  and  virile  young  man,  life  at  Bridport  House 

104 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


would  only  be  tolerable  under  very  happy  conditions. 
To  be  yoked,  willy-nilly,  to  one  of  its  native  denizens 
for  the  rest  of  one's  days,  seemed  a  hardship  almost 
too  great  to  be  borne. 

While  the  Tenderfoot  was  in  this  frame  of  mind, 
which  inclined  him  to  temporize,  he  decided  to  put  off 
the  dark  hour  as  long  as  he  could.  And  then  suddenly, 
while  still  besieged  by  doubt,  the  hypnotic  Princess 
Bedalia  swam  into  his  ken. 


"It  was  bound  to  happen,"  said  Lady  Wargrave. 
"That  young  man  has  far  too  much  time  on  his  hands. 
A  thousand  pities  he  didn't  go  into  the  army." 

"Too  old,  too  old."  Her  brother  frowned  porten- 
tously. "This  promises  to  be  a  very  tiresome  business. 
Charlotte,  I  must  really  ask  you  to  lose  no  time  in 
seeing  that  the  fellow  marries." 

It  was  now  Charlotte's  turn  to  frown.  And  this  she 
did  as  a  prelude  to  a  frankness  which  verged  upon  the 
brutal. 

"All  very  well,  my  friend,  but  perhaps  you'll  tell  me 
how  it's  to  be  done.  Neither  Marjorie  nor  Blanche  has 
the  least  power  of  attraction.  They're  hopeless.  And 
please  remember  this  young  man  has  been  five  years  in 
America." 

"I  would  to  God  he  had  stayed  there !" 

The  futile  outburst  of  his  Grace  set  Charlotte  glower- 
ing like  a  sibyl.  She  was  constrained  to  own  that  it  was 
all  intensely  annoying.  He  was  a  common  young  man. 
He  had  none  of  the  Dinneford  feeling  about  things. 

105 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"Quite  so,  Charlotte."  The  ducal  irritation  was  grow- 
ing steadily.  "But  don't  rub  it  in.  That  won't  help 
us.  Let  us  think  constructively.  You  see  the  trouble 
is  that  this  fellow  has  a  rather  democratic  outlook." 

"Then  I'm  afraid  there's  no  remedy,"  said  Charlotte, 
"unless  the  girls  have  the  brains  to  help  us,  which,  of 
course,  they  haven't." 

His  Grace  became  more  thunderous.  "Let  us  hope 
he'll  have  the  good  feeling  to  try  to  look  at  things  as  we 
do,"  he  said  after  a  rather  arid  pause. 

"I'm  not  sure  that  we've  a  right  to  expect  it,"  was  the 
frank  rejoinder. 

"Why  not?" 

"His  branch  of  the  family  has  no  particular  cause  to 
be  grateful  to  us." 

"Our  father  gave  his  father  a  living,  didn't  he?"  said 
the  Duke  sharply. 

"Yes,  but  nothing  else — unless  it  was  a  day's  shooting 
now  and  again,  which  he  didn't  accept." 

"I  don't  see  what  else  he  could  have  given  him." 

"An  eye  ought  to  have  been  kept  on  this  young  man." 

"You  can  depend  upon  it,  Charlotte,  many  things 
would  have  been  ordered  differently  had  there  been, 
reason  to  suppose  that  this  confounded  fellow  would  be 
next  in  here.  As  it  is  we  have  to  make  the  best  of  a 
sorry  business." 

"Sorry  enough,"  Charlotte  admitted.  "There  I  am 
with  you.  But  I'll  have  inquiries  made  about  this  chorus 
girl.  And  in  the  meantime,  Johnnie,  perhaps  you  will 
speak  to  him  firmly  and  quietly  without  losing  your 
temper." 

"And  my  last  word  to  you,  Charlotte,"  countered  his 

106 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


Grace,  "is  to  see  that  he  loses  no  time  in  marrying." 
"Easy,  my  friend,  to  issue  a  ukase."    And  the  redoubt- 
able Charlotte  smiled  grimly. 

VI 

Soon  after  four  the  same  afternoon  Jack  returned 
to  Broad  Place  in  the  garb  of  civilization.  He  was  in 
great  heart.  Milly  had  some  good-natured  chaff  to  offer 
as  to  Mary's  need  of  sticking  plaster.  But  the  young 
man  turned  this  persiflage  aside  with  such  a  serious  air 
that  the  quick-witted  Milly  knew  it  for  an  omen.  Having 
learned  the  set  of  the  wind  she  soon  found  a  pretext  for 
leaving  them  together. 

Milly's  sense  of  a  coming  event,  which  her  sudden 
flight  from  the  room  had  seemed  to  make  the  more 
inevitable,  was  shared  by  Mary.  Somehow  she  felt  that 
the  moment  of  moments  had  come.  This  thing  had 
to  be.  But  as  a  hand  brown  and  virile  quietly  took  hers 
in  a  strong  grip,  she  began  almost  bitterly  to  deplore  the 
whole  business.  And  yet,  when  all  was  said,  she  was 
absolutely  thrilled.  He  was  so  truly  a  man  that  a  girl, 
no  matter  what  her  talent  and  quality,  could  hardly 
refrain  from  pride  in  his  homage. 

There  was  no  beating  about  the  bush. 

"Will  you  marry  me  ?"  he  said. 

She  grew  crimson.  How  she  had  dreaded  that  long 
foreseen  question !  Days  ago  common  sense  and  worldly 
prudence  had  coldly  informed  her  that  there  could  only 
be  one  possible  answer.  The  case  of  Milly  herself  had 
furnished  a  sinister  parallel.  And  the  sensitive,  perhaps 
over-sensitive  pride  of  one  who  had  begun  at  the  bottom 
of  the  ladder,  revolted  from  all  the  ensuing  complica- 

107 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


tions.  Such  a  situation  seemed  now  to  involve  her  in 
mysteries  far  down  within,  at  the  very  core  of  being — 
mysteries  she  had  hardly  been  aware  of  until  that 
moment. 

Again  the  question.  She  looked  away,  quite  unable 
just  then  to  meet  his  eyes.  Her  will  was  strong,  her 
determination  clear,  but  in  spite  of  herself  a  deadly  feel- 
ing crept  upon  her  that  she  was  a  bird  in  a  snare. 
Certain  imponderables  were  in  the  room.  The  life 
forces  were  calling  to  each  other;  there  was  a  curious 
magnetism  in  the  very  air  they  breathed. 

She  had  meant  and  intended  "No,"  but  every  instant 
made  that  little  word  more  difficult  to  utter.  A  dominant 
nature  had  stolen  the  keys  of  her  heart  before  she  knew 
it.  And  as  she  fought  against  the  inevitable,  a  subtle 
trick  of  the  ape  on  the  chain  in  the  human  breast, 
weighed  the  scales  unfairly.  Cousin  Blanche  and  Cousin 
Marjorie  were  flung  oddly,  irrelevantly,  fantastically, 
upon  the  curtain  of  her  mind.  The  challenge  of  their 
ironical  eyes  was  like  a  knife  in  the  flesh.  And  then 
that  private,  particular  devil,  of  whose  existence,  until 
that  moment,  she  had  been  unaware,  suddenly  forced  her 
to  take  up  the  gage  those  eyes  had  flung. 

VII 

"Do  tell  me !"  cried  Milly  the  breathless. 

The  sight  of  a  lone,  troubled  Mary  in  the  little  sitting- 
room,  the  look  on  her  face  as  she  twisted  a  handkerchief 
into  knots  and  coils  had  been  too  much  for  Milly.  She 
was  a  downright  person  and  the  silence  of  Mary  was 
so  trying  to  a  forthcoming  nature  that  the  query  at  the 

108 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


tip  of  Milly's  tongue  seemed  likely  to  burn  a  hole  in  it. 

"Has  he — have  you — did  he ?"     The  demand  was 

indelicate,    but    it    sprang    from   the    depths    as    Milly 
measured  them.     Suddenly  she  saw  tears. 

"I  am  so  glad,  I  am  so  very  glad !" 

Mary  smiled,  but  the  look  in  her  eyes  had  the  power 
to  startle  the  affectionate  Milly. 

"He  is  the  luckiest  man  I  know,  but  he  is  such  a  dear 
that  he  deserves  to  be."  It  was  a  peculiarity  of  Mary's 
that  she  didn't  like  kissing,  but  Milly  in  a  burst  of  loyal 
affection  was  guilty  of  a  sudden  swoop  upon  her  friend. 

"Oh,  don't,"  said  Mary,  in  a  voice  from  which  all  the 
accustomed  gayety  was  gone. 

Milly  gazed  in  consternation. 

"You — you  have  not  refused  him?" 

"No."  And  then  there  came  a  sudden  flame.  "I'm 
a  selfish,  egotistical  wretch." 

"As  long  as  you  have  not  refused  him,"  said  Milly, 
breathing  again.  "All  the  same,  I  call  you  a  very  odd 
girl." 

But  Mary  was  troubled,  Milly  perplexed. 

"You  ought  to  be  the  happiest  creature  alive.  What's 
the  matter?" 

"I'm  thinking  of  his  friends." 

"If  they  choose  to  be  stupi'd,  it's  their  own  lookout." 

"It  mayn't  be  stupidity,"  said  Mary,  giving  her  hand- 
kerchief a  bite.  "I  know  nothing  about  him,  except " 

"Except?" 

"That  he's  above  me  socially." 

"I  wouldn't  worry  about  that  if  I  were  you,"  said 
Milly  robustly.  "If  they  like  to  be  snobs  it's  their  own 
funeral." 

109 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


But  Mary,  having  burned  her  boats,  was  afflicted  now 
by  Cousin  Blanche  and  Cousin  Mar j one.  They  were 
looking  down  upon  her  from  their  tall  horses.  It  was 
not  that  she  feared  them  in  the  least,  but  she  knew  that 
lurking  somewhere  in  an  oddly  constituted  mind  was  a 
certain  awe  of  the  things  for  which  they  stood. 

"I  can't  explain  my  feelings,"  said  Mary.  "I  only 
know  they  are  horribly  real.  I  feel  there's  a  gulf  be- 
tween Jack  and  me — and  a  word  won't  bridge  it."  And 
her  voice  trailed  off  miserably. 

"That's  weak,"  said  Milly  severely.  "I  know  what 
you  mean,  but  you  exaggerate  the  difference  absurdly. 
Sonny  is  miles  above  me  socially,  but  I'll  make  him  as 
good  a  wife  as  any  of  his  own  push,  see  if  I  don't — if 
he  gives  me  the  chance !  And  in  some  ways  I  can  make 
him  a  better." 

"How?" 

"Because  I  began  right  down  there."  Milly  pointed 
to  the  carpet.  "I  know  the  value  of  things,  I  shall  be 
able  to  see  that  no  one  takes  advantage  of  him,  whereas 
a  girl  who  has  been  spoon-fed  all  her  life  couldn't  do 
that." 

The  honest  Mary  had  to  allow  that  there  was  something 
to  be  said  for  the  point  of  view,  yet  she  would  not  admit 
that  it  covered  all  the  facts  of  the  case. 

"Please  don't  suppose  my  ideas  have  anything  to  do 
with  you  and  Lord  Wrexham."  Her  gravity  made  Milly 
feel  quite  annoyed.  "I  am  merely  thinking  of  myself. 
And  there's  something  in  me,  for  which  I  can't  account, 
which  says  that  it  may  be  wrong,  it  may  be  wickedly 
wrong,  for  me  to  marry  Jack." 

"It  certainly  will  be  if  that's  how  you  look  at  it,"  said 

no 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


Milly  scornfully.  "Why  not  make  the  most  of  your 
luck?  I'm  sure  it's  right.  After  all  Providence  knows 
better  than  anybody.  And  Jack  knows  he's  got  to  be 
a  duke." 

"Got  to  be  what?"    Mary  jumped  out  of  her  chair. 

"You  didn't  know?" 

"Of  course,  I  didn't."  She  was  simply  aghast.  In  a 
state  of  excitement  which  quite  baffled  Milly,  she  paced 
the  room. 

"You  odd  creature!"  The  mantle  of  the  arch  dis- 
sembler had  now  descended  upon  Milly. 

Truth  to  tell,  she  and  her  mother  had  had  a  shrewd 
suspicion  of  Mary's  ignorance.  They  had  learned  from 
Wrexham  that  Jack  Dinneford,  owing  to  a  series  of 
deaths  in  a  great  family,  had  quite  unexpectedly  become 
the  next-of-kin  to  the  Duke  of  Bridport.  Such  a 
prospect  was  so  little  to  the  young  man's  taste  that  as 
far  as  he  could  he  always  made  a  point  of  keeping  the 
skeleton  out  of  sight.  Rightly  or  wrongly  he  had  not 
said  a  word  to  Mary  on  the  subject,  and  she  with  a 
pride  a  little  overstrained,  no  doubt,  had  allowed  herself 
no  curiosity  in  regard  to  his  worldly  status.  For  what- 
ever it  might  be  it  was  obviously  far  removed  from  that 
of  a  girl  of  no  family  who  had  to  get  her  own  living  as 
well  as  she  could. 

The  news  was  stunning.  As  Mary  walked  about  the 
room  the  look  on  her  face  was  almost  tragic. 

"I  think  you  ought  to  have  told  me,"  she  said  at  last. 

"We  thought  you  knew,"  was  Milly's  reply.  This 
was  a  deliberate  story.  Mrs.  Wren  and  herself  in  dis- 
cussing the  romantic  news  had  concluded  the  exact  oppo- 
site. But  out  of  a  true  regard  for  Mary's  welfare,  as 

in 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


they  conceived  it,  they  had  decided  to  let  her  find  out  for 
herself.  She  was  such  an  odd  girl  in  certain  ways  that 
mother  and  daughter  felt  that  the  real  truth  about  Jack 
Dinneford  might  easily  prove  his  overthrow.  Thus  with 
a  chaste  conscience  Milly  now  lied  royally. 

Mary,  alas!  was  so  resentful  of  the  coup  of  fortune 
and  her  friends,  that  for  a  moment  she  was  tempted  to 
fix  a  quarrel  on  Milly.  But  Milly's  cunning  was  too 
much  for  her.  She  stuck  to  the  simple  statement  that 
she  thought  she  knew.  There  was  no  gainsaying  it. 
And  if  blame  there  was  in  the  matter  it  surely  lay  at 
the  door  of  her  own  proud  self. 

Mary  was  still  in  the  throes  of  an  unwelcome  dis- 
covery when  Mrs.  Wren  came  into  the  room.  The 
appearance  of  that  lady  seemed  to  add  fuel  to  the  flame. 
Her  felicitations,  a  little  overwhelming  in  their  exuber- 
ance, were  in  nowise  damped  by  the  girl's  dejection.  To 
Mrs.  Wren  such  an  attitude  of  mind  was  not  merely 
unreasonable,  it  was  unchristian.  To  call  in  question 
the  highest  gifts  of  Providence  betrayed  a  kink  in  a 
charming  character. 

"Fancy,  my  dear — a  duchess.  You'll  be  next  in  rank 
to  royalty." 

It  was  so  hard  for  the  victim  to  smother  the  tempest 
within  that  for  the  moment  she  dare  not  trust  herself 
to  speak. 

"You're  very  naughty,"  said  Mrs.  Wren.  "Why,  you 
ought  to  offer  up  a  prayer.  You've  had  success  too 
easily,  the  road  has  been  too  smooth.  If  you'd  had  a 
smaller  talent  and  you'd  had  an  awful  struggle  to  get 
there,  you'd  know  better  than  to  crab  your  luck." 

A  strong  will  now  came  to  Mary's  aid.  And  the  calm 
112 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


force  of  her  answer,  when  at  last  she  was  able  to  make 
it,  astonished  Milly  and  her  mother.  "That's  one  side 
of  the  case,  Mrs.  Wren,"  she  said  in  a  new  tone.  "But 
there's  another,  you  know." 

"There  is  only  one  side  for  you,  my  dear,"  said  the 
older  woman  stoutly.  "Take  your  chances  while  you 
may — that's  my  advice.  Your  luck  may  turn.  You'll 
not  always  be  what  you  are  now.  Suppose  you  have 
a  bad  illness  ?" 

"I'm  thinking  of  his  side  of  the  case."  The  tone 
verged  upon  sternness. 

"You  have  quite  enough  to  do  to  think  of  your  own.' 
Don't  throw  chances  away.  I  have  had  forty  years' 
experience  of  a  very  hard  profession,  and  even  you  top 
sawyers  are  on  very  thin  ice.  And  remember,  the  cards 
never  forgive.  Girls  who  have  a  lone  hand  to  play,  mustn't 
hold  their  heads  too  high.  If  they  do  they'll  live  to 
regret  it.  And  you  mustn't  think  these  swells  can't  box 
their  own  corner.  They've  nothing  to  learn  in  looking 
after  Number  One.  A  girl  of  your  sort  is  quite  equal 
to  any  of  these  drawing-room  noodles  and  Mr.  Dinneford 
knows  that  better  than  I  do." 

"But  that's  impossible.    I  can  never  be  as  they  are." 

"You  needn't  let  that  worry  you.  A  lot  of  stuck-up 
dunces  that  all  the  world  kow-tows  to !" 

"It  isn't  that  I  think  they  are  nicer  or  cleverer  or 
wiser  than  other  people.  But  they  are  born  to  certain 
things,  they  have  been  bred  to  them  for  generations,  and 
it  surely  stands  to  reason  that  they  are  better  at  their  own 
game  than  a  mere  outsider  can  hope  to  be." 

"Fiddle-de-dee!"  said  Mrs.  Wren.  "I  hope  you  are 
not  such  a  goose  as  to  take  swelldom  at  its  own  valua- 

"3 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


tion.  It's  all  a  bluff,  my  dear.  Your  humble  servant, 
Jane  Wren,  could  have  been  as  good  a  duchess  as  the 
best  of  'em  if  she  had  been  given  the  chance.  I  don't 
want  to  be  fulsome,  my  dear,  but  I'll  back  a  girl  of  your 
brains  against  Lady  Agatha  Fitzboodle  or  any  other 
titled  snob." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  be  pitted  against  anybody !" 

"That's  nonsense."  Mrs.  Wren  shook  a  worldly-wise 
head.  "As  for  being  an  outsider,  a  girl  can't  be  more 
than  a  lady  just  as  a  man  can't  be  more  than  a  gentleman. 
And  if  you  are  a  lady  and  have  always  gone  straight 
you  needn't  fear  comparison  with  the  highest  in  the 
land." 

Mary  shook  a  head  of  sadness  and  perplexity. 

"Somehow  it  doesn't  seem  right  to  mix  things  in  that 
way,"  she  said. 

"It's  the  only  way  that  keeps  'em  going,"  said  Mrs. 
Wren  scornfully.  "And  well  they  know  it.  At  least 
nature  knows  it.  Look  at  Wrexham!  Do  you  mean 
to  say  that  his  inbred  strain  wouldn't  be  improved  by 
Milly?  And  it's  the  same  with  you  and  Mr.  Dinneford. 
It's  Nature  at  the  back  of  it  all.  It's  the  call  of  the 
blood.  If  these  old  families  keep  on  intermarrying  long 
enough  dry  rot  sets  in." 

Mary  stood  a  picture  of  woe. 

"You  odd  creature!"  said  Mrs.  Wren.  "I've  never 
met  a  girl  with  such  ideas  as  yours.  I  really  believe 
you  are  quite  as  narrow  and  as  prejudiced  as  Lady 
Agatha  Fitzboodle.  To  hear  you  talk  one  would  think 
you  believed  rank  to  be  a  really  important  matter." 

Incredulous  eyes  were  opened  upon  the  voluble  dame. 

114 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


"Of  course  it  is."  But  the  girl's  solemnity  was  a 
little  too  much. 

"My  dear!"  A  gust  of  ribald  laughter  overwhelmed 
her.  "Hasn't  it  ever  struck  you  that  the  so-called  aris- 
tocracy racket  is  all  a  bluff?" 

"Surely,  it  can't  be."  The  tone  was  genuine  dis- 
may. 

"Every  word  of  it,  my  dear.  There's  only  one  thing 
behind  it  and  that's  money.  If  Wrexham  ever  sticks  a 
coronet  on  the  head  of  my  Milly  and  robes  her  in  ermine 
she'll  be  the  equal  of  any  in  the  land,  just  as  old  Bill 
Brown  who  was  in  the  last  birthday  honors  is  as  good  a 
peer  as  the  best  of  'em  now  that  his  soap  business  has 
brought  him  into  Park  Lane.  I  knew  Bill  when  he 
hadn't  a  bob.  It's  just  a  matter  of  L.S.D.  As  for  the 
frills,  they  are  all  my  eye  and  Elizabeth  Martin.  When 
my  Milly  gets  among  them,  it  won't  take  her  a  week  to 
learn  all  their  tricks.  They  are  just  so  many  perform- 
ing dogs." 

"You  don't  understand,  you  don't  understand !"  The 
tone  was  tragic. 

VIII 

A  night's  reflection  convinced  the  girl  that  there  was 
only  one  thing  to  be  done.  The  engagement  must  end. 
But  as  she  soon  found,  it  was  easier  to  make  the  resolve 
than  to  carry  it  out.  To  begin  with,  it  was  terribly  irk- 
some, in  present  circumstances,  to  give  effect  to  her 
decision  and  to  back  it  with  reasons. 

Her  debut  in  the  Row  had  been  so  successful  that  a 
ride  had  been  arranged  for  the  next  morning.  But  it 
was  spoiled  completely  by  the  specter  now  haunting  her. 


In  what  terms  could  she  tell  him  that  she  had  changed 
her  mind?  How  could  she  defend  a  proceeding  so 
unwarrantable  ? 

!  It  was  not  until  later  in  the  day,  when  they  took  a 
stroll  under  the  trees  in  the  Park,  that  she  forced  herself 
to  grasp  the  nettle  boldly. 

Jack,  as  she  had  foreseen,  was  immeasurably  aston- 
ished. He  called,  at  once,  for  her  reasons.  And  they 
were  terribly  difficult  to  put  into  words.  At  last  she  was 
driven  back  upon  the  cardinal  fact  that  he  had  concealed 
his  true  position. 

He  repudiated  the  charge  indignantly.  In  the  first 
place,  he  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  she  knew  his  posi- 
tion, in  the  second,  he  always  made  a  point  of  leaving  it 
as  much  as  possible  outside  his  calculations. 
.  "But  isn't  that  just  what  one  oughtn't  to  do?"  she 
said,  as  they  took  possession  of  a  couple  of  vacant  chairs. 
•  "To  me  the  whole  thing's  absurd,"  was  the  rejoinder. 
"It's  only  by  the  merest  fluke  that  I  have  to  succeed  to 
the  title,  and  I  find  it  quite  impossible  to  feel  about  things 
as  Bridport  House  does.  The  whole  business  is  a  great 
bore,  and  if  a  way  out  could  be  found  I'd  much  rather 
stay  as  I  am." 

"But  isn't  that  just  a  wee  bit  selfish,  my  dear — if  you 
don't  think  me  a  prig?" 

"If  you  are  quite  out  of  sympathy  with  an  antedilu- 
vian system,  if  you  disbelieve  in  it,  if  you  hate  it  in  the 
marrow  of  your  bones,  where's  the  virtue  in  sacrificing 
yourself  in  order  to  maintain  it?" 

"Noblesse  oblige!" 

"Yes,  but  does  it  ?  A  dukedom,  in  my  view,  is  just  an 
outworn  convention,  a  survival  of  a  darker  age." 

116 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


"It  stands  for  something/' 

"What  does  it  stand  for?— that's  the  point.  There's 
no  damned  merit  about  it,  you  know.  Any  fool  can  be 
a  duke,  and  they  mostly  are." 

Mary,  if  a  little  amused,  was  more  than  a  little 
shocked. 

"I'm  sure  it's  not  right  to  think  that/'  she  declared 
stoutly.  "I  would  say  myself,  although  one  oughtn't  to 
have  a  say  on  the  subject,  that  it's  the  duty  of  your  sort 
of  people  to  keep  things  going." 

"They  are  not  my  sort  of  people.  I  was  pitchforked 
among  them.  And  if  you  don't  believe  in  them  and  the 
things  it  is  their  duty  to  keep  going  what  becomes  of 
your  theory,  Miss  Scrupulous?" 

"But  that's  Socialism,"  said  Mary  with  solemn  eyes. 

"No,  it's  the  common  sense  of  the  matter.  All  this 
centralization  of  power  in  the  hands  of  a  few  hard-shells 
like  my  Uncle  Albert — he's  not  my  uncle  really — is  very 
bad  for  the  State.  He  owns  one-fifth  of  Scotland,  and 
the  only  things  he  ever  really  takes  seriously  are  his 
meals  and  his  health." 

"He  stands  for  something  all  the  same." 

The  young  man  laughed  outright. 

"I  know  I'm  a  prig."  The  blushing  candor  disarmed 
him.  "But  if  one  has  a  great  bump  of  reverence  I  sup- 
pose one  can't  help  exaggerating  one's  feelings  a  little." 

"I  suppose  not,"  laughed  the  young  man.  And  then 
there  was  a  pause.  "By  jove,"  he  said  at  the  end  of 
it,  "you'd  be  the  last  word  in  duchesses." 

"You  won't  get  Bridport  House  to  think  so." 

"So  -much  the  worse  for  Bridport  House.  Of  course, 
I  admit  it  has  other  views  for  me.  But  the  trouble  is, 

117 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


as  always  in  these  close  corporations,  they  haven't  the 
art  of  seeing  things  as  they  are." 

Mary  shook  a  troubled  head,  but  the  argument  seemed 
to  find  its  way  home. 

"The  truth  of  the  matter  is,"  he  suddenly  declared, 
"you  are  afraid  of  Bridport  House." 

Without  shame  she  confessed  that  Bridport  House 
was  bound  to  be  very  hostile,  and  was  there  not  every 
reason  for  such  an  attitude?  Jack,  however,  would  not 
yield  an  inch  upon  that  count,  or  on  any  other  if  it  came 
to  that.  He  was  a  primitive  creature  in  whom  the  call 
of  the  blood  was  paramount.  Moreover,  he  was  a  very 
tenacious  fellow.  And  these  arguments  of  hers,  strongly 
urged  and  boldly  stated,  did  not  affect  his  point  of  view. 
The  ban  of  Fortune  was  purely  artificial,  it  could  not  be 
defended.  She  was  fain,  therefore,  to  carry  the  war  to 
the  enemy's  country.  But  if  she  gently  hinted  a  change 
of  egotism  he  countered  it  astutely  with  the  subtler  one 
of  sentimentalism.  Each  confessed  the  other  partially 
right,  but  so  far  from  clearing  the  air  it  seemed  to  make 
the  whole  matter  more  complex.  The  upshot  was  that 
he  called  upon  her  to  find  a  valid  reason,  otherwise  he 
refused  point-blank  to  give  her  up. 

"Just  think,"  he  said,  tracing  her  name  on  the  gravel 
with  a  walking-stick,  "how  hollow  the  whole  business  is. 
How  many  of  Uncle  Albert's  'push'  have  married  Ameri- 
can wives  without  a  question?  And  why  do  they,  when 
they  wouldn't  think  of  giving  English  girls  of  the  same 
class  an  equal  chance?  In  the  first  place,  for  the  sake 
of  the  dollars,  in  the  second,  because  it  is  so  easy  for 
them  to  shed  their  relations  and  forget  their  origin." 

But  so  wide  was  the  gulf  between  their  points  of  view 

118 


BRIDPORT  HOUSE 


that  mere  argument  could  not  hope  to  bridge  it.  If  she 
was  in  grim  earnest,  so  was  he;  moreover  she  had 
entered  into  a  compact  he  was  determined  she  should 
fulfill.  Before  consenting  to  release  her  she  would  have 
to  show  very  good  cause  at  any  rate. 

Suddenly,  in  the  give-and-take  of  conflict,  Laxton 
came  into  her  mind.  The  memory  of  Beaconsfield 
Villas,  the  whimsical  creatures  of  another  orbit,  and  the 
childhood  which  now  seemed  ages  away,  fired  her  with 
a  new  idea.  She  would  take  him  to  see  the  humble 
people  among  whom  she  had  been  brought  up. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 
I 

THE  flight  of  time  had  affected  Beaconsfield  Villas 
surprisingly  little.  Laxton  itself  had  deferred  to 
Anno  Domini  in  many  subtle  ways;  it  had  its 
'electric  trams  and  motor-buses,  and  the  suburb  had 
doubled  in  size,  but  no  epoch-making  changes  were  vis- 
ible in  the  front  sitting-room  of  Number  Five.  In  that 
homely  interior  the  cosmic  march  and  profluence  was 
simply  revealed  by  a  gramophone,  the  gift  of  Mary,  on 
the  top  of  the  sewing  machine  in  the  corner,  and  by  the 
accession  to  the  walls  of  lithograph  portraits  of  the  son 
and  grandson  of  the  august  lady  who  still  held  pride  of 
place  over  the  chimney-piece. 

The  afternoon  was  stifling  even  for  South  London  in 
the  middle  of  June.  And  Joseph  Kelly,  who  had  at- 
tained the  rank  of  sergeant  in  the  Metropolitan  Police 
Force,  not  having  to  go  on  duty  until  six  o'clock  that 
evening,  was  seated  coatless  and  solemn,  spectacles  on 
nose,  smoking  a  well-colored  clay  and  reading  the  Daily 
Mail.  At  the  level  of  his  eyes,  in  portentous  type  was, 
"Laxton  Bye-Election.  A  Sharp  Contest.  New  Home 
Secretary's  Chances."  Joe  was  a  shade  stouter  than  of 
yore,  his  face  was  even  redder,  a  thinning  thatch  had 

1 20 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 

turned  gray,  but  in  all  essentials  the  man  himself  was 
still  the  genial  cockney  of  one-and-twenty  years  ago. 

The  outer  door  of  the  sitting-room,  which  was  next 
the  street,  was  wide  open  to  invite  the  air.  But  ever 
and  again  there  rose  such  a  fierce  medley  of  noises  from 
a  mysterious  cause  a  little  distance  off,  that  at  last  Joe 
got  up  from  his  chair,  and  waddling  across  the  room  in 
a  pair  of  worn  list  slippers,  banged  the  door  against 
the  sounds  from  the  street  which  had  the  power  to  annoy 
him  considerably. 

Hardly  had  Joe  shuffled  back  to  his  chair  and  his 
newspaper  when  the  door  was  flung  open  again  and  an 
excited  urchin  thrust  a  tousled  head  into  the  room. 

"  'Vote  for  Maclean  an'  a  free  breakfast-table' !" 

The  law  in  the  person  of  Sergeant  Kelly  rose  from 
its  chair  majestically. 

"If  you  ain't  off — my  word !" 

Headlong  flight  of  the  urchin.  Joe  closed  the  door 
with  violence  and  sat  down  again.  But  the  incident  had 
unsettled  him.  He  seemed  unable  to  fix  his  mind  on 
the  newspaper.  And  the  noises  in  the  street  waxed  ever 
louder.  Now  they  took  the  form  of  cheers  and  counter 
cheers,  now  of  hoots,  cat-calls  and  shouts  of  derision.  At 
last  the  tumult  rose  to  such  a  pitch  that  it  drew  Eliza 
from  an  inner  room. 

The  years  had  changed  her  rather  more  than  her  hus- 
band. But  she  was  still  the  active,  capable,  bustling 
housewife,  with  a  keen  eye  for  the  world  and  all  that 
was  passing  in  it. 

"They  are  making  noise  enough  to  wake  the  dead." 
Eliza  looked  eagerly  through  the  window. 

"I  wish  that  durned  Scotchman  hadn't  set  his  com- 

121 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


•mittee-room  plumb  oppersite  Number  Five,  Beaconsfield 
Villas,"  was  Joe's  sour  comment. 

At  that  moment  the  all-embracing  eye  of  a  relentless 
housewife  swooped  down  upon  a  card  lying  innocently 
on  the  linoleum.  It  had  been  flung  there  by  the  recent 
visitor.  Eliza  picked  it  up  and  read : 


Vote  for  Maclean,  thus: 

MACLEAN  X 
WHITLEY. 


On  the  back  of  the  card  was  a  portrait  of  Sir  Dugald 
Maclean,  M.P. 

Eliza  gazed  at  it  in  astonishment  mingled  with  awe. 

"I  am  bound  to  say  he  is  a  better-favored  jockey  than 
when  he  came  a-courting  our  Harriet.  Look,  Joe!" 

With  scornful  vehemence,  Joe  declined  the  invitation. 

Eliza  was  sternly  advised  to  tear  up  the  card,  but 
instead  she  chose  to  set  it  on  the  chimney-piece.  The 
rash  act  was  too  much  for  her  lord.  Once  more  he  rose 
from  his  chair,  tore  the  card  into  little  pieces  and  flung 
them  into  a  grate  artistically  decorated  with  colored 
paper. 

"You  are  jealous !"  said  Eliza,  laughing. 

"Of  the  likes  of  him!  Holy  smoke !  But  if  you  think 
we  are  going  to  have  such  trash  in  the  same  room  as  the 
Marquis,  you  make  an  error." 

The  words  had  hardly  been  uttered  when  shouts  yet 
more  piercing  came  from  the  street.  Eliza  made  a  hasty 
return  to  the  window. 

"Come  and  look,  Joe!"  she  cried  breathlessly.  "Here 

122 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 

he  is  with  his  top  hat  and  eyeglass.  He's  that  dossy 
you  wouldn't  know  him.  He's  dressed  up  like  a  tailor's 
dummy." 

But  Joe  declined  to  budge. 

"It  fairly  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  the  feller,"  he 
said. 

A  little  later,  when  the  tumult  in  the  street  had  died 
down  a  bit,  Joe  settled  himself  in  his  chair  for  an  after- 
noon nap.  Eliza,  duly  noting  the  symptoms,  retired  on 
tiptoe  to  another  room,  closing  the  door  after  her  gently. 
But  today,  alas,  the  skyey  influences  were  adverse.  Joe 
had  barely  entered  oblivion  when  a  smart  tap  at  the  street 
door  shattered  this  precarious  peace.  With  a  grudge 
against  society  he  rose  once  more,  shambled  across  the 
room  and  flung  open  the  door,  half  expecting  to  find  that 
the  urchin  had  returned  to  torment  him.  A  dramatic 
surprise  was  in  store.  On  the  threshold  was  a  creature 
so  stylishly  trim  that  even  the  blase  eye  of  the  Metropol- 
itan Force  was  sensibly  thrilled  in  beholding  her.  "A 
bit  of  class"  without  a  doubt,  although  adorned  by  the 
colors  of  the  People's  Candidate,  and  surprisingly  cool 
in  sheer  defiance  of  the  thermometer. 

"Good  afternoon !"  The  tone  of  half-confidential  inti- 
macy was  quite  irresistible.  "May  I  have  a  little  talk 
with  you?" 

"Certainly,  miss."  The  unconscious  gallantry  of  an 
impressionable  policeman  was  more  than  equal  to  the 
occasion.  "Step  inside  and  make  yourself  at  home." 

When  Joe  came  to  review  the  incident  afterwards,  it 
seemed  very  surprising  that  he  should  have  yielded  so 
easily  to  the  impact  of  this  elegant  miss.  For  instinc- 
tively he  knew  her  business.  Moreover,  the  last  thing 

123 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


he  desired  at  that  moment  was  to  be  troubled  by  her  or 
by  it.  But  he  had  been  taken  by  surprise,  and  in  all 
circumstances  he  would  have  needed  ample  notice  to 
deny  a  lady.  He  had  a  great  but  impersonal  regard  for 
a  lady,  as  some  people  have  for  a  Rembrandt  or  a  Corot 
or  a  Jan  van  Steen.  And  although  the  fact  was  not 
important,  perhaps  his  sense  of  humor  was  a  little 
touched  by  such  a  young  woman  taking  the  trouble  to 
come  and  talk  to  such  a  man  as  himself. 

"I  am  here,"  said  the  voice  of  the  dove,  as  soon  as  its 
owner  had  subsided  gracefully  upon  a  chair  covered  with 
horsehair,  "to  ask  your  vote  and  interest  for  Sir  Dugald 
Maclean,  the  People's  Candidate." 

The  prophetic  soul  of  Joe  had  told  him  that  already. 
But  again  the  sense  of  humor,  the  fatal  gift,  may  have 
intervened.  Had  the  elegant  miss  had  any  nous,  she 
would  have  known  that  a  sergeant  of  the  X  Division  has 
not  a  vote  to  bestow.  In  justice  to  the  fair  democrat, 
Joe  might  have  reflected  that  in  the  absence  of  his  tunic 
there  was  nothing  to  show  his  status.  However,  he 
didn't  trouble  to  do  that.  It  was  enough  for  him  that 
she  was  on  a  fool's  errand.  But  Joe  was  a  man  of  the 
world  as  well  as  a  connoisseur  of  the  human  female.  A 
picturesque  personality  intrigued  him.  Moreover,  it  was 
working  for  a  cause  that  Joe  despised  from  the  depths 
of  his  soul.  So  much  was  she  "the  real  thing"  that  she 
had  even  turned  on  a  melodious  lisp  for  his  benefit;  yet 
he  had  no  particular  wish,  even  under  these  flattering 
auspices,  to  discuss  the  people  and  their  champion.  He 
had  quite  made  up  his  mind  about  both.  But,  the 
Machiavellian  thought  occurred  to  him,  here  was  a 
dangerous  implement  in  the  hands  of  the  foe,  therefore 

124 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 

it  would  be  the  part  of  wisdom  to  waste  a  little  of  her 
time. 

"  'Government  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the 
people,' "  lisped  the  siren,  "that,  of  course,  as  you  may 
know,  is  what  Sir  Dugald  stands  for." 

"Does  he !"  reflected  Joe.  With  a  roguish  smile  he 
looked  the  speaker  over  from  her  expensive  top  to  her 
equally  expensive  toe. 

"You  do  believe  in  the  people  ?"  said  the  siren  with  a 
rather  dubious  air. 

"Since  you  ask  the  question,  miss,"  said  Joe,  "I  am 
bound  to  say  I  don't,  and  never  have  done." 

"Not  believe  in  the  people!"    It  didn't  seem  possible. 

"If  you'd  seen  as  much  of  the  people  as  I  have,  miss," 
said  Joe  grimly,  "I'm  thinking  you'd  not  be  quite  so  set 
up  with  'em." 

The  tone  of  conviction  disconcerted  the  fair  canvasser. 
Somehow  she  had  not  expected  it.  In  the  course  of  her 
present  ministrations  it  was  the  first  time  she  had  met 
that  point  of  view.  Laxton's  working-class,  which 
for  several  days  had  been  honored  by  her  delicate  flat- 
teries, had  shown  such  a  robust  faith  in  itself  and  had 
purred  so  responsively  to  her  blandishments  that  she 
now  took  for  granted  that  in  all  circumstances  it  would 
fully  share  her  own  enthusiasm  for  it.  But  this  rubi- 
cund, coatless  Briton,  with  eyes  of  half  truculent  humor, 
was  a  little  beyond  her.  Gloves  were  needed  to  handle 
him;  otherwise  fingers  of  such  flowerlike  delicacy  stood 
a  chance  of  being  bruised. 

"May  one  ask  what  you  have  against  them?"  lisped 
the  people's  champion,  opening  large  round  eyes. 

"Nothing  particular,  miss,"  said  Joe  urbanely.  "But 

125 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


you  ask  me  whether  I  believe  in  'em  and  I  say  I  don't. 
Mind  you,  the  people  are  all  right  in  their  place.  I've 
not  a  word  to  say  against  'em  personally.  Of  a  Monday 
morning  at  Vine  Street,  when  the  Court  has  been  swep' 
an'  dusted  and  his  Worship  has  returned  from  his  Sunday 
in  the  country,  we  always  try  to  make  'em  welcome. 
'Let  'em  all  come,'  that's  the  motto  of  the  Metropolitan 
Force.  But  as  for  believing  in  'em,  that's  another  story." 

This  was  rather  baffling  for  the  people's  champion. 
She  was  at  a  loss.  But  her  faith  was  sublime.  This 
odd,  crass,  heavy-witted  plebeian  who  denied  his  kind  was 
a  sore  problem  even  for  the  bringer  of  the  light.  Still, 
she  stuck  to  her  guns  gallantly. 

"'Government  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the 
people.' "  Lisping  the  battle  cry  of  Demos  she  returned 
stoutly  to  the  charge.  Sacred  formulas  flowed  from  her 
lips  in  a  stream  of  charming  pellucidity. 

"Ah,  you  don't  know  'em,  miss,"  ejaculated  Joe,  at 
intervals. 

It  was  a  pretty  joust ;  vicarious  enthusiasm  on  the  one 
side,  first-hand  experience  on  the  other.  But  Joe  was 
a  rock.  The  fair  canvasser  took  forth  every  weapon 
of  an  elegantly-furnished  armory,  yet  without  avail. 

"I  don't  hold  with  the  people,  miss,  not  in  no  shape 
nor  form." 

The  tone  was  so  final  that  at  last  a  sense  of  defeat 
came  upon  this  Amazon.  She  was  still  seated,  however, 
without  having  quite  made  up  her  mind  to  the  inevitable, 
on  her  grand  chair  in  the  front  sitting-room  of  Number 
Five,  Beaconsfield  Villas,  when  Fate  intervened  in  quite 
a  remarkable  way. 

All  of  a  sudden,  there  appeared  on  the  threshold  of  the 

126 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 

open  door  a  figure  tall,  fine  and  unheralded.  It  was  that 
of  Harriet  Sanderson. 

"Anybody  at  home?"  she  inquired  gayly. 

The  unexpected  visitor  was  looking  very  handsome 
and  distinguished  in  a  well-cut  black  coat  and  skirt,  and 
a  large  hat  too  plain  for  fashion,  but  very  far  from 
demode.  She  came  into  the  room  with  that  almost  pro- 
prietary air  she  was  never  without  in  her  intercourse 
with  her  own  people.  But  it  was  about  to  suffer  an 
eclipse. 

Harriet  just  had  time  to  greet  her  brother-in-law  with 
a  happy  mingling  of  the  bon  camarade  and  the  woman  of 
the  world,  her  fixed  attitude  towards  such  an  Original, 
whom  somehow  she  could  not  help  liking  and  respecting, 
when  her  eyes  met  suddenly  those  of  the  fair  canvasser. 

For  a  moment  an  intense  surprise  forbade  either  to 
speak.  But  the  people's  champion  was  the  first  to  over- 
come the  shock. 

"Mrs.  Sanderson!"  she  exclaimed. 

The  change  in  Harriet  was  immediate  and  dramatic. 

"Lady  Muriel !"  A  slight  flush  of  a  fine  face  accom- 
panied the  tone  of  awe. 

The  visitor  rose.  And  in  the  act  of  so  doing  an  acces- 
sion of  great  ladyhood,  almost  entirely  absent  a  few 
minutes  ago,  seemed  automatically  to  enter  her  manner. 

"What  a  small  world  it  is!"  she  laughed.  "Fancy 
meeting  you  here !" 

By  now  the  iron  will  of  the  secretly  annoyed  and  oddly 
discomposed  Harriet  was  able  to  reassert  itself. 

"It  is  a  small  world,  my  lady."  The  tone  was  a  very 
delicate  mingling  of  aloofness  and  respect. 

Brief  explanations  followed.  These  quickly  cul- 

127 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


minated  in  the  presentation  of  Joe,  who  then  became  the 
most  embarrassed  of  the  three.  Unawares  and  in  his 
shirt  sleeves,  he  had  been  entertaining  an  angel.  And  to 
one  of  Conservative  views,  with  a  profound  reverence 
for  law,  order  and  all  established  things,  this  seemed  to 
verge  upon  indecency.  A  mere  "one  of  Scotchie's  lady 
canvassers"  had  been  magically  transformed,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  into  Lady  Muriel  Dinneford,  the 
third  daughter  of  one  whom  Number  Five,  Beaconsfield 
Villas,  always  alluded  to  as  "his  Grace." 

II 

It  was  the  work  of  a  few  tactful  minutes  for  Lady 
Muriel  to  effect  a  discreet  retirement  from  the  scene. 
Yet  so  deeply  had  she  been  engaged  by  Joe's  contumacy, 
and  at  the  back  of  a  mind  which  was  making  the  most 
heroic  efforts  to  be  "broad"  was  such  a  sense  of  amuse- 
ment, that  she  declared  her  intention  of  returning  anon 
with  the  People's  Candidate,  if  he  could  possibly  spare 
a  few  minutes  from  his  multifarious  duties,  in  order  that 
the  coup  de  grace  might  be  given  to  Mr.  Kelly's  danger- 
ous heresies. 

The  withdrawal  of  the  distinguished  visitor  across  the 
street  to  the  Candidate's  committee  room  left  a  void 
which  for  a  few  tense  moments  only  wonder  could  fill. 

It  was  Joe  who  broke  the  silence  which,  like  a  pall, 
had  suddenly  descended  upon  the  front  parlor  of  Num- 
ber Five. 

"If  that  don't  beat  Banagher,"  he  said.  "Fancy  one 
of  the  Fam'ly  taking  the  trouble  to  come  a  canvassin' 
for  Scotchie!" 

128 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 

Keen  humor  and  acute  annoyance  contended  now  in 
the  eloquent  face  of  Harriet. 

"Pray,  why  shouldn't  she  canvass  for  Sir  Dugald 
Maclean"— the  level  voice  was  pitched  in  a  very  quiet 
key — "if  she  really  believes  in  his  principles  ?" 

"How  can  she  believe  in  'em,  gal?" 

"Why  not?" 

"How  can  a  blue  blood  believe  in  that  sort  of  a  feller?" 

"Sir  Dugald  is  a  remarkably  clever  man.  One  of 
the  cleverest  men  in  England,  some  people  think." 

"That's  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  It's  char- 
acter that  counts." 

"There's  nothing  against  his  character,  I  believe.  At 
any  rate,  Lady  Muriel  is  going  to  marry  him." 

The  state  of  Joe's  feelings  forbade  an  immediate  reply. 
And  when  reply  he  did,  it  was  in  a  tone  of  scorn.  Said 
he :  "  'Government  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the 
people!'  Harriet,  for  a  dead  beat  fool  give  me  a  blue 
blood  aristocrat." 

"Joe,"  came  the  answer,  with  a  gleam  of  humor  and 
malice,  "I  really  think  you  should  learn  to  speak  of  our 
governing  class  a  little  more  respectfully." 

This  was  rather  hard.  She  ought  to  have  realized  that 
it  was  because  Joe  respected  them  so  much  that  he  now 
desired  to  chasten  them. 

"Scotchie  of  all  people !"  he  muttered. 

"There's  no  accounting  for  taste,  you  know."  There 
was  a  sudden  flash  of  a  very  handsome  pair  of  eyes. 

"O'  course  there  ain't,"  said  Joe,  sorrowfully  mali- 
cious. "You  may  have  forgot  there  was  a  time  when 
Scotchie  came  a-courtin'  you." 

"Do  you  suppose  I  am  ever  likely  to  forget  it!"  said 

129 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


Harriet,  with  a  cool  cynicism  which  took  the  simple 
Joseph  completely  out  of  his  depth. 

"Well,  it's  a  queer  world,  I  must  say." 

"It  is,"  his  sister-in-law  agreed. 

At  that  moment,  Eliza  came  into  the  room.  The 
visit  of  Harriet  was  so  unexpected  as  to  take  her  by 
surprise.  But  the  cause  of  it  was  soon  disclosed.  Har- 
riet was  troubled  about  Mary.  Ever  since  the  girl, 
against  the  wishes  and  advice  of  her  friends,  had  taken 
what  they  felt  to  be  a  fatal  step,  there  had  been  a  gradual 
drifting  apart.  Harriet  had  kept  in  touch  with  her  as 
well  as  she  could,  but  she  had  not  been  able  to  stifle 
her  own  private  fears.  The  peril  of  such  a  career,  even 
when  crowned  by  success,  was  in  her  opinion,  dif- 
ficult to  exaggerate.  She  disapproved  of  the  friendship 
with  the  Wren's,  and  had  strongly  opposed  Mary's  living 
with  them.  But  as  the  girl  rose  in  her  profession, 
Harriet's  hold  upon  her  grew  still  less.  And  now  at' 
second  and  third  hand  had  come  news  which  had  greatly 
upset  her. 

With  the  tact  for  which  she  was  famous,  Harriet 
did  not  speak  of  this  in  the  presence  of  Joe.  She  ac- 
companied Eliza  to  the  privacy  of  the  best  bedroom,  os- 
tensibly to  "take  off  her  things,"  but  really  to  discuss  a 
matter  which  for  the  past  week  had  filled  her  with  mis- 
giving. 

In  the  meantime,  Joe  in  the  parlor  set  himself  doggedly 
to  compass  the  nap  that  so  far  had  been  denied  him. 
In  spite  of  the  noises  in  the  street  and  romantic  ap- 
pearance of  a  real  live  member  of  the  Family  in  his 
humble  abode,  he  had  just  begun  to  doze  when  the  ban  of 
Fate  fell  once  more  upon  him. 

130 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 

From  the  strange  welter  in  the  amazing  world  outside 
there  now  emerged  a  large  open  motor.  And  royally  it 
drew  up  before  the  magic  door  of  Number  Five.  Two 
persons  were  seated  in  the  car.  One  was  no  less  than 
Princess  Bedalia.  The  other  was  the  humblest  and  yet 
the  boldest  of  her  adorers. 

ill 

The  idea  itself  had  been  Mary's  that  they  should  use 
a  fine  afternoon  in  motoring  into  Laxton,  in  order  to  see 
her  parents.  Behind  this  simple  plan  was  fell  design. 
A  week  had  passed  since  that  conversation  under  the 
trees  in  the  Park  in  which  she  had  sought  in  vain  for 
her  release.  But  so  shallow  had  her  reasoning  appeared 
that  Jack  declined  to  take  it  seriously.  He  had  her 
promise,  and  he  felt  he  had  every  right  to  hold  her  to 
it.  Unless  she  could  show  a  real  cause  for  revoking  it, 
he  was  fully  determined  not  to  give  her  up. 

In  desperation,  therefore,  she  had  hit  on  the  expedient, 
a  poor  and  vain  one,  no  doubt,  of  taking  him  to  see  those 
humble  people  whom  she  called  father  and  mother.  In  the 
course  of  her  twenty  odd  years  up  and  down  the  world 
she  had  had  intimations  from  various  side  winds  and 
divers  little  birds  that  she  was  an  adopted  child.  Her 
real  parentage  and  the  circumstances  of  her  birth  were 
an  impenetrable  mystery  and  must  always  be  so,  no 
doubt,  but  her  feeling  for  the  Kellys  was  one  of  true  af- 
fection and  perfect  loyalty.  Not  by  word  or  deed  had 
she  hinted  at  the  possession  of  knowledge  which  had 
come  to  her  from  other  sources. 

In  the  circumstances  of  the  case  she  now  allowed  her- 
self to  imagine  that  a  visit  to  her  home  people  in  their 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


native  habit  as  they  dwelt  might  help  to  cure  Jack  of  his 
infatuation.  An  insight  into  things  and  men  told  her  that 
Beaconsfield  Villas  must  be  whole  worlds  away  from  any 
sphere  in  which  he  had  moved  hitherto.  Nor  would  he 
be  likely  to  suspect,  as  she  was  shrewdly  aware,  that  a 
creature  so  sophisticated  as  herself  had  risen  from  such 
humble  beginnings.  She  had  a  ferocious  pride  of  her 
own,  but  it  was  not  of  the  kind  that  meanly  denies 
its  origin. 

"Father,"  was  her  gay  greeting  to  the  astonished  and 
still  coatless  Joe,  "I've  brought  somebody  to  see  you." 

Jack,  wearing  a  dustcoat  and  other  appurtenances  of 
the  chauffeur's  craft,  had  followed  upon  the  heels  of 
Princess  Bedalia  into  the  front  parlor  of  Number  Five. 
In  response  to  the  young  man's  bow,  Kelly  offered  a 
rather  dubious  hand.  As  became  a  symbol  of  law  and 
order  and  a  member  of  the  straitest  sect  of  the  Pharisees, 
he  didn't  feel  inclined  to  encourage  Mary  in  gallivanting 
up  and  down  the  land.  Nor  did  he  feel  inclined  to  give 
countenance  to  any  promiscuous  young  man  she  might 
bring  to  the  house. 

"Mr.  Dinneford — my  father,  Police-Sergeant  Kelly." 
It  was  a  delightfully  formal  introduction,  but  rather 
wickedly  contrived. 

Jack  was  so  taken  aback  that  he  felt  as  if  a  feather 
might  have  downed  him.  But  even  to  the  lynx  eyes  of 
Mary,  which  were  covertly  upon  him,  not  a  trace  of  his 
feelings  was  visible.  He  merely  bowed  a  second  time, 
perhaps  a  little  more  gravely  than  the  first. 

"Pleased  to  meet  you,  sir,"  said  Sergeant  Kelly,  in 
a  voice  which  showed  pretty  clearly  that  he  was  over- 
stating the  truth. 

132 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 

Mary  could  not  repress  the  rogue's  laugh  that  sprang 
to  her  lips. 

"Where's  my  old  mumsie  ?"  she  gayly  demanded,  partly 
in  the  hope  of  concealing  her  wicked  merriment. 

"Upstairs  with  your  Aunty  Harriet." 

"Aunt  Harriet  here!"  The  tone  was  full  of  surprise. 
And  then  the  charming  voice  took  a  turn  affectionately 
non-committal.  "What  luck!  It  seems  an  age  since  I 
saw  her." 

In  spite  of  himself,  Joe  could  not  help  being  a  little  in 
awe  of  the  girl.  She  was  so  remarkably  striking  that 
every  time  he  saw  her  it  became  harder  to  keep  up  the 
pretense  of  blood  relationship.  She  had  developed  into 
the  finest  young  woman  he  had  ever  met.  Her  official 
father  was  very  proud  of  her,  the  affection  she  inspired 
in  him  was  true  and  real,  but  at  the  moment  he  was 
more  than  a  little  embarrassed  by  the  impact  of  an 
immensely  distinguished  personality. 

However,  in  spite  of  such  beauty  and  charm,  he  was 
determined  to  do  his  duty  by  her ;  as  became  a  father  and 
a  man  he  felt  bound  to  admonish  her. 

"Since  you  took  up  with  those  people,  none  of  us 
have  been  seeing  much  of  you,"  he  forced  himself  to  say, 
in  his  most  magisterial  manner. 

"Old  story!" 

"It's  true  and  you  know  it."  Joe  declined  on  prin- 
ciple to  be  softened  by  her  blandishments. 

"Wicked  old  story!"  She  took  him  by  the  shoulders 
and  shook  him;  and  then  she  sighed  as  a  mother  might 
have  done,  and  gazed  into  his  solemn  face.  "Father," 
she  said,  "you  are  an  old  and  great  dear." 

133 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"Get  along  with  you !"  said  Joe  sternly,  but  in  spite  of 
himself  he  couldn't  help  laughing. 

"I'll  leave  you  and  Mr.  Dinneford  to  have  a  little  crack 
while  I  take  this  to  my  mumsie."  Brandishing  an  impor- 
tant-looking milliner's  box,  she  left  the  room  in  a  laughing 
search  of  Eliza. 

As  soon  as  Jack  found  himself  alone  with  Mary's 
father  a  period  of  constraint  ensued.  It  would  have 
been  wrong  to  deny  that  his  reception  had  been  the  re- 
verse of  cordial.  The  sensitiveness  of  a  lover,  in  duty 
bound  to  walk  delicately,  made  no  secret  of  that.  More- 
over, he  was  still  so  astonished  at  Mary's  paternity  that 
he  felt  quite  at  a  loss.  Nature  had  played  an  amazing 
trick.  Somehow  this  serio-comic  London  copper  in  half- 
mufti,  was  going  to  make  it  very  difficult  to  exercise 
the  deference  due  to  a  prospective  father-in-law. 

An  acute  silence  was  terminated  by  Joe's  "Won't  you 
sit  down,  sir?" 

Jack  sat  down;  and  then  Mary's  father,  torn  between 
stern  disapproval  and  the  humane  feelings  of  a  host, 
invited  the  young  man  solemnly  to  a  glass  of  beer. 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Jack,  with  admirable 
gravity. 

Murmuring  "excuse  me  a  minute,"  Joe  went  to  draw 
the  beer.  Left  alone  the  young  man  tried  to  arrange 
his  thoughts ;  also  he  took  further  stock  of  his  surround- 
ings. He  had  yet  to  overcome  a  powerful  feeling  of  sur- 
prise. It  was  hard  to  believe  that  Princess  Bedalia,  in 
the  view  of  her  fiance,  the  very  last  word  in  modern 
young  women,  should  have  sprung  from  such  a  milieu 
as  Number  Five,  Beaconsfield  Villas.  It  was  a  facer. 
Yet  somehow  the  chasm  between  Mary  and  her  male 

134 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 

parent  seemed  almost  to  enhance  her  value.  She  was  so 
superb  an  original  that  she  defied  the  laws  of  nature. 

The  young  man  was  engulfed  in  an  odd  train  of  spec- 
ulation when  Mary's  father  returned  with  the  beer.  He 
poured  out  two  glasses,  gave  one  to  the  visitor,  took 
one  himself,  and  after  a  solemn  "Good  health,  sir!" 
solemnly  drank  it. 

Jack  returned  the  "Good  health!"  and  followed  the 
rest  of  the  ri'tual.  And  then  feeling  rather  more  his 
own  man,  he  made  an  effort  to  come  to  business.  But 
it  was  only  possible  to  do  that  by  means  of  a  direct- 
ness verging  upon  the  indelicate. 

"Sergeant  Kelly,"  he  said,  "have  you  any  objection 
to  my  marrying  Mary?" 

No  doubt  the  form  of  the  question  was  a  little  unwise. 
At  least  it  exposed  the  young  man  to  the  prompt  re- 
joinder: 

"I  know  nothing  whatever  about  you,  sir." 

"My  name  is  Dinneford" — he  could  not  refrain  from 
laughing  a  little  at  the  portentous  gravity  of  a  prospective 
father-in-law.  "And  I  think  I  can  claim  that  I  have 
always  passed  as  respectable." 

"Glad  to  hear  it,  sir,"  said  Joe,  the  light  of  a  re- 
spectful humor  breaking  upon  him.  And  then  measuring 
the  young  man  with  the  eye  of  professional  experience. 
"May  I  ask  your  occupation?" 

"No  occupation." 

"I  don't  like  the  sound  o'  that."  Sergeant  Kelly  sagely 
shook  his  head. 

"Perhaps  it  isn't  quite  so  bad  as  it  sounds,"  said  the 
young  man.  "At  present,  you  see,  I  am  a  kind  of  under- 
study to  a  sort  of  uncle  I  have.  I  am  in  training  as 

135 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


you  might  say,  so  that  one  day  I  may  follow  in  his 
footsteps." 

"An  actor,"  said  the  dubious  Joe.  He  didn't  mind 
actors  personally,  but  impersonally  he  didn't  quite  hold 
with  the  stage. 

"Not  exactly,"  said  the  young  man  coolly,  but  with 
a  smile.  "And  yet  he  is  in  his  way.  In  fact,  you  might 
call  him  a  prince  of  comedians." 

"I'm  sorry,  sir."  Sergeant  Kelly  measured  each  word 
carefully.  "But  I'm  afraid  that's  only  a  very  little  in 
his  favor." 

"I'm  sorry,  too,"  said  Jack.  "My  uncle  is  a  duke, 
and  the  deuce  of  it  is,  I  have  to  succeed  him." 

"A  duke!"  Sergeant  Kelly's  tone  of  rather  pained 
surprise  made  it  clear  that  such  a  romantic  circumstance 
greatly  altered  the  aspect  of  the  case.  It  also  im- 
plied that  he  was  far  from  approving  an  ill-timed  jest 
on  a  sacred  subject.  His  brow  knitted  to  a  heavy  frown. 
"Well,  sir,  I  can  only  say  that  if  such  is  the  case  you 
have  no  right  to  come  a-courting  our  Mary." 

"For  why  not,  Sergeant  Kelly?" 

"You  know  why  not,  sir,  as  well  as  I  do.  She's  a 
fine  gal,  although  I  say  it  who  ought  not,  but  that  will 
not  put  her  right  with  your  friends.  They  will  expect 
you  to  take  a  wife  of  your  own  sort." 

"But  that's  rather  my  look-out,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  sir,  it  is,"  said  Joe,  with  the  air  of  a  warrior, 
"but  as  you  have  asked  me,  there's  my  opinion.  The 
aristocracy's  the  aristocracy,  the  middle-class  is  the  mid- 
dle-class, and  the  lower  orders  are  the  lower  orders — 
there  they  are  and  you  can't  alter  'em.  At  least,  that's 
my  view  of  the  matter." 

136 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 

Jack  forced  a  wry  smile.  Mary  was  a  chip  of  the  old 
block.  Such  an  uncompromising  statement  seemed  at 
any  rate  to  explain  the  force  of  her  conviction  upon 
this  vexed  subject. 

"Excuse  the  freedom,  sir,"  said  the  solemn  Joe,  "but 
you  young  nobs  who  keep  on  marrying  out  of  your 
class  are  undermining  the  British  Constitution.  What's 
to  become  of  law  and  order  if  you  go  on  mixing  things 
up  in  the  way  you  are  doing?" 

The  young  man  proceeded  to  do  battle  with  the 
Philistine.  But  the  weapons  in  his  armory  were  none 
of  the  brightest  with  which  to  meet  the  crushing  onset  of 
the  foe. 

"It's  no  use,  sir.  As  I  say,  the  aristocracy's  the  aris- 
tocracy, the  middle-class  is  the  middle-class,  and  the 
lower  orders  are  the  lower  orders — there  they  are  and 
you  can't  alter  'em.  You  don't  suppose  I've  regger- 
lated  the  traffic  at  Hyde  Park  Corner  all  these  years 
not  to  know  that." 

In  the  presence  of  such  a  conviction,  the  best  of  Jack's 
arguments  seemed  vain,  futile  and  shallow.  Fate  had 
charged  Joseph  Kelly  with  the  solemn  duty  of  maintain- 
ing the  fabric  of  society,  and  in  his  purview,  no  argu- 
ment however  cunning,  could  set  that  fact  aside. 


While  these  two  were  still  at  grips,  each  meeting  the 
arguments  of  the  other  with  a  sense  of  growing  impa- 
tience, the  cause  of  the  trouble  intervened.  Mary  came 
into  the  room,  leading  her  mother  by  the  hand.  With 
the  face  of  a  sphinx  followed  Harriet. 

137 


THE  TIME~ SPIRIT 


The  blushing  Eliza  was  adorned  with  a  fine  coat  which 
had  come  in  the  milliner's  box.  Mary  had  laughingly 
insisted  on  her  mother  appearing  in  it,  in  spite  of  Eliza's 
firm  conviction  that  "it  was  much  too  grand." 

"My  word,  mother!"  roared  Joe,  at  the  sight  of  her 
splendor.  "I'm  thinking  I'll  have  to  keep  an  eye  on 
you." 

The  visitor  was  promptly  introduced,  first  to  the  wearer 
of  the  coat,  who  offered  a  shy  and  embarrassed  hand, 
and  then  to  Aunt  Harriet,  who  stood  mute  and  pale 
in  the  background. 

"Why — why,  Mrs.  Sanderson,"  said  the  young  man, 
"fancy  meeting  you  here !" 

"You  have  met  before?"  said  Mary,  innocently. 

"We  meet  very  often." 

"Really?" 

"Why,  yes.  Mrs.  Sanderson  is  Uncle  Albert's  right 
hand  at  Bridport  House." 

A  pin  might  have  been  heard  to  fall  in  the  silence  that 
followed.  The  blood  fled  from  Mary's  cheeks;  they 
grew  as  pale  as  those  of  her  aunt.  Even  the  knowledge 
that  had  recently  come  to  her  had  not  connected  Jack 
with  Bridport  House.  No  attempt  had  been  made  to 
realize  exactly  who  and  what  he  was.  It  had  been 
enough  that  he  belonged  to  a  world  beyond  her  own. 
And  now  as  this  new  and  astonishing  fact  presented 
itself  she  saw  the  strongest  possible  justification  for  the 
attitude  she  had  taken  up. 

As  for  Harriet,  stern  and  unbending  in  the  background, 
she  was  like  an  Antigone  who  abides  the  decree.  Her 
fears  were  realized.  The  worst  had  happened.  Fate 

138 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 

had  played  such  a  subtle  and  unworthy  trick  that  the 
instinct  uppermost  was  to  resent  it  bitterly. 

The  feelings  of  the  girl  were  very  similar.  But  her 
strength  of  character  and  the  independence  of  her  posi- 
tion enabled  her  to  take  charge  of  a  situation  delicate 
and  embarrassing.  In  a  rather  high-pitched  voice,  she 
began  to  talk  generalities  in  order  to  bridge  if  possible 
the  arid  pauses  which  were  always  threatening  to  sub- 
merge the  conversation.  But  at  the  back  of  her  mind 
was  a  growing  sense  that  secret  forces  are  always  at 
work  in  this  strange  world  we  inhabit — forces  which 
have  a  peculiar  malice  of  their  own. 

And  yet,  hopeless  as  the  position  had  suddenly  become 
for  these  five  people,  the  fates  had  one  more  barb 
in  their  quiver.  And  it  was  of  so  odd  a  kind  that  it 
was  as  if  the  stars  in  their  courses  were  bent  upon 
seeing  what  mischief  they  could  contrive  in  this  partic- 
ular matter.  A  sudden  sharp  rap  from  the  knocker  of  the 
front  door  fell  into  the  midst  of  the  growing  embar- 
rassment. Joe,  welcoming  this  diversion  as  relief  to  a 
tension  that  was  almost  intolerable,  went  at  once  to 
attend  the  cause  of  it. 

"As  I'm  a  living  man,"  came  a  lusty  voice  from  the 
threshold,  "if  it  isn't  old  Joe  Kelly." 

The  People's  Candidate,  resetted,  dauntless  and  tri- 
umphant, accompanied  by  the  lady  of  his  choice,  stepped 
heroically  into  the  small  room.  Twenty-three  years  had 
wrought  a  very  remarkable  change  in  a  very  remarkable 
man.  In  that  time  Dugald  Maclean  had  bent  all  the 
powers  of  his  genius  to  a  task  that  Miss  Harriet  Sander- 
son had  discreetly  imposed  upon  the  author  of  "Urban 
Love,  a  Trilogy."  And  now  he  came  in,  every  inch 

139 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


a  victor,  he  had  not  looked  to  find  his  monitress.  But 
there  she  was,  pale,  grim,  yet  somehow  oddly  distin- 
guished in  the  background  of  a  room  curiously  familiar. 
It  was  to  her  that  his  eyes  leapt. 

"Why,  Miss  Sanderson!"  he  said,  with  a  conqueror's 
laugh,  in  which  there  was  no  trace  of  the  tongue-tied 
youth  of  three  and  twenty  years  ago.  Offering  a  con- 
queror's hand,  he  went  forward  to  greet  her. 

Harriet  yielded  hers  with  a  vivid  blush.  And  as  she 
did  so,  she  was  suddenly  aware  of  two  swordlike  orbs 
piercing  her  right  through. 

"I  didn't  know  Mrs.  -Sanderson  was  a  friend  of 
yours,"  said  the  honeyed  voice  of  Lady  Muriel. 

"A  very  old  friend,"  said  Sir  Dugald  gayly. 

At  that  moment,  however,  it  was  necessary  for  Lady 
Muriel  to  curb  her  curiosity.  Since  her  exit  from  that 
room  half-an-hour  ago  other  people  had  gathered  in  it. 
She  had  hardly  spoken  when  her  astonished  eyes  fell 
upon  Cousin  Jack.  Their  recognition  of  each  other  was 
mutually  incredulous.  Yet  there  was  really  no  reason 
why  it  should  have  been.  It  was  known  to  the  young 
man  that  Muriel  had  been  refused  permission  to  marry 
a  politician  already  on  the  high  road  to  place  and  power, 
and  it  was  known  to  her  that  Jack  had  been  going  about 
with  an  actress. 

"A  family  party,"  said  Jack,  as  their  eyes  met.  "Let 
me  introduce  Miss  Lawrence — Lady  Muriel  Dinneford." 

An  exchange  of  aloof  bows  followed.  And  then, 
although  very  careful  to  seem  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind, 
each  measured  the  other  with  an  eye  as  hard  and  bright 
as  a  diamond.  To  neither  was  the  result  of  this  scrutiny 
exactly  pleasant.  It  came  upon  Cousin  Muriel  with  a 

140 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 

little  shock  of  surprise  that  "the  Chorus  Girl"  should 
look  just  as  she  did,  and  that  she  knew  how  to  bear 
herself  in  a  way  that  did  not  yield  an  inch  to  the 
enemy,  yet  at  the  same  time  scrupulously  refrained  from 
offering  battle.  Here  was  beauty  of  a  very  compelling 
kind,  and  in  the  hostile  view  of  its  present  beholder 
something  more  valuable.  The  distinguished  air,  the  look 
of  breeding,  went  some  way  to  excuse  a  deplorable  infat- 
uation. But  as  far  as  "the  Chorus  Girl"  herself  was  con- 
cerned, a  little  over-sensitive  as  circumstances  may  have 
made  her  on  the  score  of  her  own  dignity,  it  was  far  from 
pleasant  to  detect  in  this  authentic  member  of  the  family 
that  power  of  conveying  subtle  insult,  without  speech 
or  look,  which  belonged  to  the  two  others,  presumably 
her  sisters,  whom  she  had  met  in  the  Park. 

Somehow  the  girl  felt  a  keen  rage  within.  It  may 
have  been  the  world  of  unconscious  arrogance  behind 
that  aloof  nod,  it  may  have  been  the  implicit  challenge 
in  the  lidded  glance  down  the  long  straight  nose.  But 
whatever  the  cause,  Mary  suddenly  felt  a  surge  of 
resentment  in  her  very  bones. 

In  the  meantime,  the  People's  Candidate  was  playing 
his  part  to  perfection.  The  flight  of  time  had  wrought 
wonders  in  this  champion  of  Demos.  He  was  no  longer 
tongue-tied  and  awkward ;  even  the  roll  of  his  "r's"  was 
so  diminished  that  Ardnaleuchan  would  hardly  have 
known  its  child.  Everything  was  in  perfect  harmony. 
After  a  few  brief  passages  with  Harriet,  audaciously 
humorous,  in  which  homage  was  paid  to  old  times,  he 
turned  with  a  sportsman's  eye  to  exchange  a  ready  quip 
with  Joe  and  Eliza. 

Joe,  in  his  heart,  was  scandalized.  A  Tory  to  the  bone, 

141 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


in  his  view  the  social  hierarchy  was  part  of  the  cosmic 
order.  It  was  unchanging,  immutable.  "Scotchie"  was 
a  charlatan,  tongue  in  cheek;  a  mountebank  of  a  fellow 
whom  it  was  amazing  that  honest  men,  let  alone  high- 
born women,  could  not  see  through.  Joe  was  deter- 
mined to  have  no  truck  with  him,  but  the  People's 
Candidate  with  a  bonhomie  which  the  former  colleague 
of  the  X  Division  was  inclined  to  regard  as  mere  brazen- 
ness,  seemed  quite  determined  not  to  take  rebuffs  from 
an  old  friend. 

"You  haven't  a  vote,  Joe,  I  know,"  said  Maclean,  "but 
you  are  a  man  of  influence  here  and  I  want  you  to 
speak  for  me  with  your  pals." 

Joe  shook  a  solemn  head. 

"I  don't  believe  in  your  principles,"  said  he. 

The  voice,  a  growl  of  indignation,  struck  the  ear  of 
Lady  Muriel  a  veritable  blow.  In  spite  of  "the  breadth" 
she  was  trying  so  hard  to  cultivate,  the  laws  of  her 
being  demanded  that  these  humble  people  should  grovel. 
They  were  of  another  caste,  another  clay;  somehow 
Joe's  blunt  skepticism  gave  her  a  sense  of  personal 
affront. 

"You  have  not  a  vote,  Mr.  Kelly,"  she  interposed,  in 
a  sharp  tone.  "Pray,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  A  canvas- 
ser's time  is  valuable." 

"Your  ladyship  never  asked  the  question." 

"But  you  knew,  surely,  my  object  in  coming?" 

"I  did,"  said  Joe  coolly,  with  a  slightly  humorous  air. 
"And  I  thought  your  ladyship  so  dangerous  that  the 
best  thing  I  could  do  was  to  get  you  barking  up  the 
wrong  tree." 

The  answer  delighted  Maclean.  He  threw  up  his  head 

142 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 

and  laughed  like  a  school  boy.  But  in  the  midst  of  a 
mirth  that  his  fiancee  was  quite  incapable  of  sharing 
with  him,  Jack  and  Mary  rose  to  go.  They  had  been 
waiting  to  seize  the  first  chance  which  offered  in  order 
to  escape  from  a  decidely  irksome  family  party. 


As  Mary  and  Jack  took  leave,  the  penetrating  eye 
of  the  new  Home  Secretary  regarded  them.  The  two 
men  had  not  met  before,  but  they  were  known  to  each 
other  by  hearsay.  Jack  had  heard  little  good  of  Maclean 
— Sir  Dugald  had  heard  even  less  good  of  Jack.  A  light 
of  amused  malice  sprang  to  their  eyes  in  the  moment 
of  recognition.  But  from  those  of  the  Scotsman  it 
quickly  passed.  For  almost  at  once  his  attention  was 
caught  by  the  affectionate  intimacy  of  the  good-bys  be- 
stowed upon  Joe,  Eliza,  and  Harriet  by  a  girl  of  quite 
remarkable  interest. 

Was  it  possible?  The  live  thought  flashed  through 
Sir  Dugald's  mind.  In  an  instant  it  had  leapt  to  the 
November  evening  of  the  year  1890.  Immense  quan- 
tities of  water  had  flowed  under  the  bridge  since  that 
far  distant  hour.  And  if  this  vivid,  unforgettable  girl 
was  the  creature  he  now  suspected  that  she  must  be, 
here  was  one  example  the  more  of  the  romance  of 
time,  nature  and  circumstance. 

As  soon  as  Mary  and  Jack  were  away  on  what  they 
called  a  joy-ride  to  Richmond,  all  Sir  Dugald's  doubts 
in  the  matter  were  laid  at  rest.  At  once  there  followed 
a  few  brief,  but  pitiless  and  bitter  passages  between 
Harriet  Sanderson  and  Lady  Muriel. 

143 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"Tell  me,  Mrs.  Sanderson,"  said  the  younger  woman 
in  a  tone  of  ice,  "is  Miss  Lawrence  a  connection  of 
yours  ?" 

"My  niece,  my  lady,"  said  Harriet,  an  odd  tremor  in 
her  voice. 

"A  daughter,  I  presume,  of  your  sister  and  her  hus- 
band?" 

"That  is  so,  my  lady."  Harriet's  tone  was  slowly 
deepening  to  that  of  her  questioner. 

"Of  course,  the  matter  will  have  to  be  mentioned  at 
once  to  my  father.  And  I'm  afraid  the  consequences 
cannot  fail  to  be  serious.  You  must  feel  that  it  is 
very  wrong  to  have  connived  at  such  a  state  of  things." 

Harriet's  reply,  brief  but  considered,  made  with  a  sud- 
den flush  of  color  and  a  lighted  eye,  was  a  cold  denial. 
It  was  a  short  but  painful  scene,  and  its  three  wit- 
nesses would  gladly  have  been  spared  it.  Lady  Muriel 
had  lost  a  little  of  her  poise.  In  spite  of  her  "breadth" 
she  was  simply  horrified  by  her  discovery.  She  could 
not  believe  that  Harriet  spoke  the  truth.  And  the  cun- 
ning, the  duplicity,  the  chicane  of  a  retainer  who  had 
held  a  privileged  position  for  so  many  years  filled  her 
with  an  inward  fury  that  was  almost  beyond  control. 

"One  could  not  have  believed  it  to  be  possible,"  she 
said,  in  a  voice  that  trembled  ominously.  And  having 
discharged  that  Parthian  bolt,  she  withdrew  with  the 
People's  Candidate  in  order  to  canvass  the  next  house 
in  the  street. 


VI 


Such  a  departure  left  consternation  in  its  train.    After 
a  moment  of  complete  silence,  Eliza  burst  into  a  suddea 

144 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 

flood  of  tears,  Joe  put  on  his  tunic  with  the  air  of  a 
tragedian,  but  Harriet  remained  immovable  as  a  statue. 

"This  comes  of  the  stage,"  wailed  poor  Eliza. 

Joe  felt  the  times  themselves  were  to  blame,  at  any  rate 
they  were  sadly  out  of  joint. 

"I  don't  know  what  things  are  coming  to,"  he  said, 
flinging  his  slippers  into  a  corner  and  putting  on  his 
boots.  "Things  are  all  upside  down  these  days  and  no 
mistake." 

Harriet  blamed  no  one.  She  merely  stood  white  and 
shaken,  a  picture  of  tragic  unhappiness. 

"Gal,"  said  Joe,  turning  to  her  a  Job's  comforter,  "one 
thing  is  sure.  You  are  going  to  lose  your  place." 

Harriet  bit  her  lip,  coldly  disdaining  a  reply. 

"As  sure  as  eggs  that'll  be  the  upshot,"  proceeded  Joe. 
"I'm  sorry  I  let  that  jockey  go  without  giving  him  a 
bit  of  my  mind." 

"He  is  not  to  blame,"  said  Harriet  tensely. 

"Who  is,  then?" 

"You  and  me,  Joe,"  sobbed  Eliza,  "for  letting  her 
go  on  the  stage." 

"There  was  no  stopping  her — you  know  that  well 
enough.  As  soon  as  she  took  up  her  dancing  we  lost 
all  control  of  her.  But  we've  got  to  be  pretty  sensible 
now.  A  nice  tangle  things  are  in,  and  they'll  take  a  bit 
of  straightening  out." 

Harriet  shook  a  mournful  head. 

"What  can  people  like  ourselves  possibly  do?"  she 
asked. 

"I've  a  great  mind,"  said  Joe,  "to  step  as  far  as 
Bridport  House  and  have  a  few  words  with  his  Grace." 

"That's  merely  preposterous,"  said  Harriet  decisively. 

145 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"The  matter  must  be  brought  to  his  notice  at  once, 
any  way,"  said  Joe  doggedly. 

"You  can  count  upon  that,"  said  Harriet  grimly. 

"But  it'll  be  one  side  only.  And  there's  the  other, 
my  gal." 

"What  other?"     Harriet  asked  with  a  drawn  smile. 

"Her  side.  She  is  not  going  to  be  made  a  fool  of  by 
anyone  if  I  can  help  it" 

Sajd  Harriet  very  gravely:     "Joe,  I  sincerely  hope 

U   will   not   meddle   in   this.      I   am   quite   sure   that 

* 

interference  of  ours  will  be  most  unwise.'' 


But  Joe  shook  the  head  of  a  warrior. 

"There  you're  wrong.  This  is  our  affair  and  we've 
got  to  see  it  through." 

"Far  better  let  the  matter  alone." 

"When  we  adopted  that  girl,"  said  Joe,  "we  took  a 
great  responsibility  on  ourselves,  and  we've  got  to  live 
up  to  it.  In  my  opinion  that  young  man  means  no 
good." 

"You  have  no  right  to  say  that,"  said  Harriet  quickly 

"I've  a  right  to  say  what  I  think.  And  you  know  as 
well  as  I  do  that  the  likes  o'  him  don't  condescend  to  the 
likes  o'  her  with  any  good  intention." 

Harriet   flushed   darkly. 

"I  am  quite  sure  that  Mr.  Dinneford  would  always 
behave  like  a  gentleman,"  she  said  sternly. 

"That  is  more  than  you  know." 

"You  seem  to  forget  that  he  is  one  of  the  Family." 

Joe  laughed  rather  sardonically.  "I  don't  blame  you 
for  being  so  set  up  with  your  precious  Family,"  he  said. 
"It  is  only  right  that  you  should  be  —  but  I  know  what 
I  know.  Human  nature's  human  nature." 

146 


Harriet  shook  her  head.  Not  for  a  moment  could 
she  accept  this  point  of  view.  Moreover,  she  strongly 
urged  that  there  must  not  be  interference  of  any  kind 
with  Bridport  House. 

"That's  as  may  be,"  said  Joe  stoutly.  "But  you  can 
take  your  oath  that  I  mean  to  see  justice  done  in  the 
matter." 

"You  talk  as  if  she  was  your  own  daughter,"  said 
Harriet,  who  was  growing  deeply  annoyed. 

"Ever  since  I  gave  her  my  name  and  my  roof,  I  have 
looked  on  her  as  a  gal  of  my  own." 

"Yes,  that  we  have,"  chimed  Eliza  tearfully.  "And 
I  am  sure  that  Joe  is  right  to  take  the  matter  up." 

Again  Harriet  dissented.  In  her  view,  and  she  did 
not  hesitate  to  express  it  forcibly,  it  would  be  sheer  folly 
for  people  like  themselves  to  meddle  in  such  a  delicate 
affair. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Eliza  bitterly,  "that  rather  than 
go  against  Bridport  House,  you  would  ruin  the  girl." 

The  words  struck  home.  Eliza  had  long  looked  up 
to  her  younger  sister.  The  position  she  held  was  one 
of  honor,  but  Harriet's  exaggerated  concern  for  an 
imposing  machine  of  which  she  was  no  more  than  a  very 
humble  cog,  somehow  aroused  Eliza's  deepest  feelings. 

"It  is  a  very  wicked  thing  to  say."  And  in  the  eyes 
of  Harriet  was  an  odd  look. 

"You  set  these  grandees  above  everything  in  the 
world,"  Eliza  taunted.  "Like  the  Dad,  you  simply  wor- 
ship them." 

.    A    deadly    pallor    overspread    Harriet's    face.      Her 
eyes  grew  grim  with  pain  and  anger.     But  a  powerful 

147 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


nature,  schooled  to  self-discipline,  fought  for  control  and 
was  able  to  gain  it. 

"It's  a  futile  discussion,"  she  said  suddenly,  in  a 
changed  tone.  And  then  she  added  with  an  earnestness 
strangely  touching.  "Joe,  I  implore  you  not  to  take  any 
step  in  the  matter  without  first  consulting  me." 

The  solemn  words  seemed  to  gain  finality  from  the 
fact  that  Harriet  Sanderson  then  walked  abruptly  out 
of  the  house. 


CHAPTER  VI 

PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT 


THE  Duke,  in  his  morning-room,  was  reading  a 
letter  which  had  just  come  to  him  by  post  As 
he  folded  it  neatly  and  returned  it  to  an  envelope 
which  bore  the  stamp  of  the  south-eastern  postal  district, 
the  light  of  humor  played  over  an  expressive  face.  And 
when,  after  much  reflection,  he  took  the  letter  again  from 
its  envelope  and  solemnly  re-read  it,  the  look  deepened  to 
the  verge  of  the  saturnine. 

Still  pondering  what  he  plainly  considered  to  be 
a  priceless  document,  a  succession  of  odd  grimaces  caused 
him  to  purse  his  lips  and  to  frown  perplexedly.  At  last 
he  dropped  his  glasses  and  broke  into  a  guffaw. 

Lying  back  in  his  invalid's  chair,  still  in  the  throes 
of  an  infrequent  laughter,  he  was  presently  brought  back 
to  the  plane  of  gravity  by  the  unexpected  arrival  of 
Lady  Wargrave  upon  the  scene. 

She  entered  the  room  with  a  gladiatorial  air. 

The  face  of  his  Grace  underwent  a  sudden  change  at 
the  sight  of  this  unwelcome  visitor. 

Charlotte  seated  herself  ponderously.  And  then  hav- 
ing allowed  a  moment's  pause  for  dramatic  effect,  she 

149 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


said,  marking  her  brother  with  an  intent  eye,  "The  plot 
thickens." 

"Plot?"  he  said,  warily. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  believe  that  you  have  not  heard 
the  latest  development?" 

"Why  speak  in  riddles,  Charlotte?"  He  was  trying 
to  suppress  a  growing  irritability. 

Charlotte  smiled  frostily.  "One  should  make  allow- 
ances, no  doubt,  for  natural  simplicity.  But  even  to 
the  aloofness  of  philosophers  there's  a  limit,  my  friend. 
You  must  know  that  there  is  only  one  subject  in  all 
our  minds  just  now." 

The  Duke,  a  concentrated  gaze  upon  Charlotte,  did 
not  allow  himself  to  admit  anything  of  the  kind.  For 
one  thing  they  were  lifelong  adversaries.  Charlotte  was 
a  meddlesome  woman,  an  intriguer  and  a  busybody  in  the 
sacred  name  of  Family.  They  had  tried  many  a  fall 
with  each  other  in  the  past,  and  although  Providence  in 
making  Albert  John  the  head  of  the  house  had  given 
him  an  unfair  advantage,  he  was  often  hard  set  by  Char- 
lotte's malice  and  persistency. 

"Have  you  spoken  to  that  young  wretch?"  Charlotte 
lost  no  time  in  coming  boldly  to  the  horses. 

"I  have  not,"  was  the  sour  reply. 

"Is  it  quite  wise,  do  you  think,  to  let  the  grass  grow, 
under  your  feet? — particularly  having  regard  to  the  fact 
that  the  person  happens  to  be  a  niece  of  Mrs.  Sander- 
son's." This  was  a  very  shrewd  blow,  whose  manner 
of  delivery  had  been  most  carefully  considered  before-^ 
hand.  Indeed,  so  neatly  was  it  planted  now  that  his 
Grace  got  the  shock  of  his  life.  The  surprise  was  so 
painfully  sharp  that  he  found  it  hard  to  meet  the  foe 


PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT 

without  flinching.  He  had  to  make  a  great  effort  to 
hold  himself  in  hand.  And  Charlotte,  a  cold  eye  upon 
him,  followed  up  in  an  extremely  businesslike  manner. 
She  had  a  very  strong  hand  to  play  and  a  true  war- 
rior, if  ever  there  was  one,  she  was  set  on  wringing  out 
of  it  the  last  ounce  of  advantage.  There  had  come  to 
her  at  last,  after  many  a  year  of  watching  and  waiting, 
an  opportunity  beyond  her  hopes  and  her  prayers. 

"Last  evening  poor  Sarah  came  to  me  in  great  dis- 
tress," proceeded  Charlotte.  "Muriel,  it  appears,  had 
been  electioneering  in  the  constituency  of  a  certain  per- 
son, and  in  the  course  of  her  wanderings  up  and  down 
the  suburbs,  she  found  herself  quite  by  chance  at  the 
house  of  Mrs.  Sanderson's  brother-in-law." 

By  this  time  his  Grace  had  sufficiently  recovered  from 
the  blow  that  had  been  dealt  him  to  ask  how  Muriel  had 
contrived  to  make  that  particular  discovery. 

It  seemed  that  she  had  found  Mrs.  Sanderson  there. 

"The  long  arm  of  coincidence,"  opined  his  Grace  with 
a  wry  smile.  He  opined  further  that  the  whole  thing 
began  to  sound  uncommonly  like  a  novel. 

"Sober  reality,  I  assure  you,  Johnnie.  And  sober 
reality  can  beat  any  novel  in  the  power  of  the  human 
mind  to  invent,  that's  why  it's  so  stupid  to  write  them. 
Muriel  entered  the  house  by  chance,  Mrs.  Sanderson 
came  there,  and  presently,  if  you  please,  Master  Jack 
arrived  by  motor  with  the  young  person.  By  the  way, 
Muriel  says  she  is  very  good  looking." 

"Quite  a  family  party."  His  Grace  achieved  a  light 
tone  with  difficulty.  "But  I  incline  to  think,  Char- 
lotte, you  a  little  overstate  the  facts." 

"It  is  the  story  Muriel  told  Sarah." 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"Well,  I  am  very  unwilling  to  believe  that  Mrs.  San- 
derson knew  what  was  going  on." 

"Pray,  why  not?"  He  was  raked  by  a  goshawk's 
eye. 

"She  would  have  told  me." 

Somehow  those  lame,  impotent  words  revealed  a  man 
badly  hit.  Charlotte  saw  that  at  once,  and  forthwith 
proceeded  to  turn  the  fact  to  pitiless  advantage.  A 
gust  of  coarse  laughter  swept  the  room. 

"Johnnie,  it's  the  first  time  I've  read  you  a  fool. 
Simple  Simon !  Do  you  think  a  woman  who  has  learned 
to  play  her  cards  like  that  is  the  one  to  give  away 
her  hand?" 

This  was  a  second  blow  planted  neatly  on  the  vizor 
of  his  Grace.  In  spite  of  his  armor  of  cynicism  he 
could  be  seen  to  wince  a  little.  And  the  silence  which 
followed  enabled  the  implacable  foe  to  perceive  that  he 
was  shaken  worse  than  it  seemed  reasonable  to  expect 
him  to  be. 

"Perhaps  you'll  now  permit  her  to  be  sent  away.  A 
sordid  intriguer.  She  must  go  at  once." 

In  the  trying  moment  which  followed,  the  Duke,  badly 
hipped,  fought  valiantly  to  pull  himself  together.  But 
somehow  he  only  just  managed  to  do  so. 

"You  make  a  mistake,  Charlotte,"  he  said,  with  an 
effort  that  clearly  hurt  him.  "She  is  not  that  kind  of 
person.  You  always  have  made  that  mistake.  She  is  a 
superior  woman  in  every  way.  At  least,  I  have  always 
found  her  so.  I  can't  imagine  such  a  woman  intriguing 
for  anybody." 

"Shows  how  little  you  know  'em,  Johnnie."  Another 
Gargantuan  gust  swept  the  room.  "Every  woman  in- 

152 


PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT 

trigues  unless  she's  a  born  fool,  and  this  housekeeper 
nurse  of  yours  is  very  far  from  being  that — believe 
me." 

For  a  brief,  but  uncomfortable  moment  the  Duke 
thought  the  matter  over  with  an  air  of  curious  per- 
plexity. Then  he  said  abruptly  and  with  defiance: 

"I  must  have  further  information." 

"Sarah  has  the  details.  It  would  be  well,  no  doubt, 
to  have  her  views  on  the  matter." 

Whereupon  Charlotte  rose  massively,  crossed  to  the 
bell  and  rang  it  in  order  that  a  much  tormented  male 
should  enjoy  this  further  privilege. 

n 

The  eldest  daughter  of  the  house,  when  she  came 
on  the  scene,  found  the  atmosphere  decidedly  electric. 
Her  father  was  glaring  with  very  ominous  eyes;  while 
it  was  clear  from  the  look  on  the  face  of  Aunt  Char- 
lotte that  she  was  under  the  impression  that  she  had 
downed  him  at  last.  No  doubt  she  had,  but  if  those  eyes 
meant  anything  there  was  still  a  lot  of  fight  in  the  stricken 
warrior. 

Sarah  herself  was  a  long,  thin,  flat-chested  person. 
Totally  devoid  of  imagination,  her  horizon  was  so  limited 
that  outside  the  Family  nothing  or  nobody  mattered. 
And  yet  she  was  not  in  the  least  domesticated.  In 
fact,  she  was  not  in  the  least  anything.  She  was  nobly 
and  consistently  null,  without  opinions  or  ideas,  without 
humor,  charm  or  amenity.  Her  mental  outlook  had 
somehow  thrown  back  to  the  i84o's,  yet  with  all  her 
limitations,  apart  from  which  very  little  remained  of 

153 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


her,  she  was  a  thoroughly  sound,  exceedingly  honest 
Christian  gentlewoman  of  thirty-eight. 

Sarah,  it  seemed,  having  heard  Muriel's  story,  had 
taken  counsel  of  the  dowager.  And  at  once  realizing  the 
extreme  gravity  of  the  whole  affair,  both  ladies  deter- 
mined to  make  the  most  of  a  long-sought  opportunity 
to  give  the  housekeeper  her  quietus.  Sarah  herself,  who 
was  inclined  to  be  embittered  and  vindictive  on  this  par- 
ticular point,  fell  in  only  too  readily  with  Aunt  Char- 
lotte's desire  to  take  full  advantage  of  such  a  golden 
chance.  Called  upon  now  to  divulge  all  that  she  knew, 
the  eldest  daughter  re-told  Muriel's  remarkable  story 
of  her  meeting  with  Mrs.  Sanderson,  Jack  and  the  girl, 
in  the  course  of  political  endeavors  at  Laxton.  The 
story,  amazing  as  it  was,  was  undoubtedly  authentic. 

"Of  course,  father,"  was  Sarah's  conclusion,  very 
pointedly  expressed,  "she  will  simply  have  to  go.  And 
the  sooner  the  better,  as  no  doubt  you  agree." 

To  Sarah's  deep  annoyance,  however,  her  sire  seemed 
very  far  from  agreeing. 

"There  is  no  direct  evidence  of  collusion,"  he  said. 
"And  knowing  Mrs.  Sanderson  to  be  an  old  and  tried 
servant,  who  has  always  had  our  welfare  at  heart,  I 
am  very  unwilling  to  place  such  a  construction  upon  what 
may  be  no  more  than  a  rather  odd  coincidence." 

Sarah  was  too  deeply  angry  to  reply.  But  she  looked 
on  grimly  while  the  ruthless  Charlotte  showly  marshaled 
her  forces.  The  quarrel  was  a  very  pretty  one.  Yet 
the  Duke,  now  his  back  was  to  the  wall,  was  able  to 
take  excellent  care  of  himself.  Moreover,  he  flatly  de- 
clined to  hear  a  worthy  woman  traduced  until  she  had 

154 


PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT 

had  a  chance  of  meeting  charges  so  recklessly,  and  as 
it  seemed,  malevolently  brought  against  her. 

"From  the  way  in  which  you  speak  of  her,"  said  the 
incensed  Charlotte,  "you  appear  to  regard  her  as  a  person 
of  importance." 

"Charlotte,  I  regard  her  as  thoroughly  honest,  trust- 
worthy, competent — in  fact  a  good  woman  in  every  way." 

"You  willfully  blind  yourself,  Johnnie.  This  creature 
has  thrown  dust  in  your  eyes.  But  it  will  be  no  more 
than  you  deserve  if  one  day  her  niece  is  installed  as  mis- 
tress here.  You  will  not  live  to  see  it,  yet  it  would  be 
no  more  than  bare  justice  if  you  did." 

"Pernicious  nonsense,"  rejoined  his  Grace.  "Perhaps 
in  the  circumstances  it  would  be  well  to  hear  what  Mrs. 
Sanderson  has  to  say  for  herself." 

"She  is  bound  to  lie." 

Somehow  the  precision  of  the  language  stung  his 
Grace. 

"You  are  not  entitled  to  say  that,"  he  flashed. 

"It  is  the  common  sense  of  the  situation  and  one  has  a 
perfect  right  to  express  it." 

"Not  here,  Charlotte — not  in  this  room  before  me.  If 
I  trust  people  implicitly — there  are  not  many  that  I  do — 
I  trust  them  implicitly,  and  I  can't  allow  even  privileged 
people  to  speak  of  them  in  that  way — at  any  rate,  in  my 
presence." 

This  explosion  was  so  unlocked  for  that  it  took  the 
ladies  aback.  In  all  the  years  they  had  fought  him 
they  had  never  seen  him  moved  so  deeply.  A  new 
Albert  John  had  suddenly  emerged.  Never  before  had  the 
head  of  the  house  allowed  these  enemies  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  such  quixotic,  such  fantastic  chivalry.  Char- 

155 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


lotte  was  sourly  amused,  Sarah,  amazed ;  but  both  ladies 
were  deeply  angry. 

However,  they  had  fully  made  up  their  minds  that 
the  housekeeper  must  go.  Indeed,  that  had  been  already 
arranged  at  the  after-dinner  conference  at  Hill  Street  the 
previous  evening.  They  were  convinced  that  a  woman 
whom  they  intensely  disliked,  whose  peculiar  position 
they  greatly  resented,  was  at  last  driven  into  a  corner. 
The  Duke's  indecently  bold  defense  of  her  had  taken 
them  by  surprise,  but  it  only  made  them  the  more  deter- 
mined to  push  their  present  advantage  ruthlessly  home. 

in 

Suddenly  Sarah  rose  and  pressed  the  bell.  She  de- 
manded of  the  servant  who  answered  it  that  Mrs.  San- 
derson should  appear. 

Harriet,  already  apprised  of  Lady  Wargrave's  arrival, 
came  at  once.  She  was  quite  prepared  for  a  painful 
scene.  Only  too  well  had  she  reason  to  know  the 
state  of  feeling  in  regard  to  herself.  She  had  always 
been  so  able  and  discreet  that  she  had  enforced  the 
outward  respect  of  those  whom  she  served  so  loyally. 
But  she  well  knew  that  she  was  not  liked  by  the 
ladies  of  the  house,  and  that  the  special  position  she 
had  come  to  hold  owing  to  the  decline  of  the  Duke's 
health,  was  a  casus  belli  between  him  and  the  members 
of  his  family.  She  had  long  been  aware  that  in  the 
opinion  of  the  Dinneford  ladies  it  was  no  part  of  a 
housekeeper's  functions  to  act  as  a  trained  nurse  to  their 
invalid  father. 

Harriet  had  a  natural  awe  of  Lady  Wargrave,  which 

156 


PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT 

she  shared  with  all  under  that  roof;  for  Lady  Sarah 
she  had  the  deep  respect  which  she  extended  to  every 
member  of  the  august  clan  it  had  been  her  privilege 
to  serve  for  so  many  years.  In  the  devout  eyes  of 
Harriet  Sanderson  each  unit  of  that  clan  was  not  as 
other  men  and  women.  In  the  matter  of  Bridport  House 
and  all  that  it  stood  for,  she  was  more  royalist  than  the 
king. 

From  the  dark  hour,  a  week  ago  now,  in  which  the 
news  had  come  by  a  side  wind,  that  the  fates  by  a 
stroke  of  perverse  cruelty,  as  it  seemed,  had  thrown 
Mary  across  the  path  of  Mr.  Dinneford,  she  had  hardly 
known  how  to  lay  her  head  on  her  pillow.  To  her 
mind  the  whole  thing  was  simply  calamitous.  It  had 
thrown  her  into  a  state  of  profound  unhappiness.  She 
now  came  into  the  room  looking  worn  and  ill,  yet  fully 
prepared  for  short  shift  to  be  meted  out  to  her  by 
those  whom  she  found  assembled  there. 

The  ladies  looked  for  defiance,  no  doubt.  And  they 
may  have  looked  for  an  undercurrent  of  malicious  tri- 
umph. Yet  if  they  expected  either  of  these  things  their 
mistake  was  at  once  very  clear.  It  was  hard  to  find  a 
trace  of  the  successful  intriguer  in  the  haggard  cheeks 
and  somber  eyes  of  the  woman  before  them.  But  to 
minds  such  as  theirs  portents  of  this  kind  could  not 
be  expected  to  weigh  in  the  scale  against  their  pre- 
conceived ideas. 

It  was  left  to  Lady  Wargrave  to  fix  the  charge.  And 
this  she  did  with  a  blunt  precision  which  was  itself 
a  form  of  insult.  The  icy  tones  were  scrupulously 
polite,  nothing  was  said  which  one  in  her  position  was 
not  entitled  to  say  in  such  circumstances,  yet  the  whole 

157 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


effect  was  so  deadly  in  its  venom  as  to  be  absolutely 
pitiless. 

At  first  Harriet  was  overwhelmed.  The  force  of  the 
attack  was  beyond  anything  she  had  looked  for.  More- 
over, it  seemed  to  fill  the  Duke,  an  unwilling  auditor, 
with  anger  and  pain.  He  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair, 
yet  he  was  not  able  to  check  the  cold  torrent  of  quasi- 
insult  by  word  of  mouth,  for  none  knew  better  than 
Lady  Wargrave  how  to  administer  castigation  without 
going  outside  the  rules  of  the  game. 

Even  when  the  shock  of  the  first  blows  was  past, 
Harriet  could  find  no  means  of  defending  herself.  She 
was  a  very  proud  woman.  Her  blamelessness  in  what 
she  could  only  regard  as  a  very  odious  matter  was  so 
clear  to  her  own  mind  that  it  did  not  seem  to  call  for 
re-statement.  She,  too,  said  nothing.  But  a  hot  flush 
came  upon  the  thin  cheek. 

Lady  Wargrave  grew  more  and  more  incensed  by  a 
silence,  the  cause  of  which  she  completely  mistook. 

"You  have  been  nearly  thirty  years  here,  Mrs.  Sander- 
son, and  you  have  been  guilty  of  a  wicked  abuse  of 
trust." 

The  painful  pause  which  followed  this  final  blow  was 
broken  at  last  by  the  Duke. 

"You  must  forgive  me,  Charlotte,  if  I  say  that  the 
facts  of  the  case  as  they  have  been  presented,  hardly 
justify  such  a  statement." 

The  tone  was  honey.  And  it  was  in  such  ironical 
contrast  to  Charlotte's  own  that  nothing  could  have 
shown  more  clearly  the  wide  gulf  between  their  points 
of  view  or  the  envenomed  strife  of  many  years  now  com- 
ing to  a  head. 

158 


PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT 

"They  prove  the  charge  to  the  hilt."  The  hawk's  eyes 
of  Charlotte  contracted  ominously. 

"What  charge? — if  you  don't  mind  stating  it  ex- 
plicitly." 

"Mrs.  Sanderson  has  used  her  position  here  to  make 
her  niece  known  to  the  future  head  of  this  house,  she 
has  connived  at  their  intimacy,  she  appears  to  have  fos- 
tered it  in  every  way." 

"I  don't  think  you  are  entitled  to  say  that,  Char- 
lotte." The  Duke  spoke  slowly  and  pointedly,  and  then 
he  turned  to  Harriet  with  an  air  of  such  delicate  polite- 
ness that  it  added  fuel  to  the  flame  which  was  withering 
her  traducers.  "If  it  is  not  asking  too  much,  Mrs.  San- 
derson," he  said,  with  a  smile  of  grave  kindness,  "I 
should  personally  be  very  grateful  if  you  would  be 
wicked  enough  to  defend  yourself.  Let  me  say  at  once 
that  I  am  far  from  accepting  the  construction  Lady 
Wargrave  has  placed  on  the  matter.  But  her  zeal  for  a 
time-honored  institution  is  so  great  that  if  her  judgment 
is  outrun,  it  seems  only  kind  to  forgive  her." 

Such  oblique  but  resounding  blows  in  the  sconce  of 
Charlotte  filled  her  with  a  fury  hard  to  hold  in  check. 

"What  defense  is  possible?"  Her  voice  was  like 
a  crane.  "The  facts  are  there  to  look  at.  Mrs.  San- 
derson's niece  has  extracted  a  promise  of  marriage." 

The  Duke  turned  to  Harriet   rather  anxiously. 

"I  sincerely  hope  Lady  Wargrave  has  been  misin- 
formed," he  said. 

Harriet  flushed. 

"I  only  know" — speech  for  her  had  become  almost 
intolerably  difficult — "that  Mr.  Dinneford  has  asked  my 
brother-in-law's  consent  to  his  marrying  her." 

159 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


The  Duke  may  have  been  deeply  annoyed,  but  not  a 
line  of  his  face  betrayed  him. 

"Who  is  your  brother-in-law,  Mrs.  Sanderson?" 

Harriet  told  him. 

"A  very  honest  man" — the  Duke  checked  a  laugh — "I 
have  been  honored  by  a  letter  from  him  this  morning." 

Even  the  lacerated  Harriet  could  not  forbear  to  smile. 

"I  am  sure,"  said  she,  "he  will  not  let  Mary  marry 
Mr.  Dinneford  if  he  can  help  it." 

"Why  not?"  sharply  interposed  Lady  Wargrave. 

"Why  not,  Charlotte?"  Her  brother  took  upon  him- 
self to  answer  the  question.  "Because  Sergeant  Kelly 
is  a  very  sensible  and  enlightened  man  who  evidently 
tries  to  see  things  in  their  right  relation." 

"Fiddle-de-dee  1"  said  Charlotte,  with  the  bluntness 
for  which  she  was  famous.  "Depend  upon  it,  he  knows 
as  well  as  anybody  on  which  side  his  bread  is  buttered." 

Her  brother  shook  his  head.  "I  think,"  he  said,  "if  you 
had  had  the  privilege  of  reading  Sergeant  Kelly's  letter 
you  would  be  agreeably  surprised.  At  any  rate,  he 
seems  quite  to  share  your  view  of  the  sacredness  of  the 
social  fabric." 

"Let  us  look  at  the  facts,"  said  Charlotte.  "This 
marriage  has  to  be  prevented  at  all  costs.  And  I  hope 
it  is  not  too  much  to  ask  Mrs.  Sanderson  that  she  will 
give  us  any  assistance  which  may  lie  in  her  power." 

The  look  upon  Lady  Wargrave's  face,  as  she  made  the 
request,  clearly  implied  that  help  from  such  a  quarter 
must,  in  the  nature  of  things,  be  negligible.  But  in  spite 
of  the  covert  insult  in  the  tone  and  manner  of  the  dowa- 
ger, Harriet  replied  very  simply  that  there  was  nothing 
she  would  leave  undone  to  prevent  such  a  catastrophe. 

160 


PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT 

"I  am  quite  sure,  Mrs.  Sanderson,  we  can  count  upon 
that,"  said  the  Duke,  in  a  tone  which  softened  consider- 
ably the  humiliating  silence  with  which  the  promise  had 
been  received. 

"To  begin  with,"  said  the  Duke,  turning  to  Harriet, 
"I  shall  ask  your  brother-in-law  to  come  and  see  me. 
Evidently  he  is  one  of  these  sensible,  straightforward 
men  who  can  be  trusted  to  take  a  large  view  of  things." 

The  face  of  Lady  Wargrave  expressed  less  optimism. 

"There  is  one  question  I  would  like  to  put  to  Mrs. 
Sanderson,"  she  suddenly  interposed.  It  seemed  that  she 
had  reserved  for  a  final  attack  the  weapon  on  which  she 
counted  most.  "Be  good  enough  to  tell  me  this."  The 
ruthless  eye  was  fixed  on  Harriet.  "How  long,  Mrs. 
Sanderson,  have  you  known  of  Mr.  Dinneford's  inti- 
macy with  your  niece?" 

There  was  a  slight  but  painful  pause,  and  it  was  broken 
by  a  rather  faltering  reply. 

"It  is  just  a  week  since  I  first  heard  of  it,  my  lady." 

"Just  a  week !  And  in  the  whole  of  that  time  you  have 
not  thought  well  to  mention  the  matter?" 

The  tone  cut  like  a  knife.  And  the  stab  it  dealt  was 
so  deep  that  Harriet  was  unable  to  answer  the  question 
which  propelled  it. 

"Why  didn't  you  mention  it,  Mrs.  Sanderson?" 

The  blood  fled  suddenly  from  Harriet's  cheek.  She 
grew  nervous  and  confused. 

"Please  answer  the  question."  There  was  now  a  ring 
of  triumph  in  the  pitiless  tone. 

"I  wished  to  spare  his  Grace  unpleasantness,"  stam- 
mered Harriet. 

"Very  thoughtful  of  you,  Mrs.  Sanderson,"  said  Lady 
161 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


Wargrave,  bitingly.  "No  doubt  his  Grace  appreciates 
your  regard  for  his  feelings.  But  even  if  that  was  the 
motive,  surely  it  was  your  duty  to  report  the  matter 
to  Lady  Sarah  as  soon  as  it  came  to  your  knowledge." 

The  hesitation  of  Harriet  grew  exceedingly  painful  to 
witness. 

"Yes,"  she  said  at  last.  Tears  suddenly  sprang  to 
her  eyes.  "I  begin  to  see  now  that  it  was  my  duty.  I 
wish  very  much  that  I  had  mentioned  the  matter  to 
Lady  Sarah." 

Both  ladies  were  so  fully  set  on  the  overthrow  of  this 
serpent  that  the  air  of  touching,  exquisite  simpleness 
went  for  nothing.  But  in  any  case  they  would  have  been 
too  obtuse  to  notice  it. 

"We  all  wish  that.'*  Lady  Wargrave  pursued  her  ad- 
vantage pitilessly.  "And  I  am  sure  I  speak  for  his 
Grace  as  well  as  for  the  rest  of  us."  She  trained  a 
look  of  malicious  triumph  upon  the  perplexed  and 
frowning  face  of  her  brother. 

As  became  a  consummate  tactician  who  now  had  the 
affair  well  in  hand,  Charlotte  gave  the  Duke  a  moment  to 
intervene  if  he  felt  inclined  to  do  so.  But  she  well  knew, 
a  kind  of  instinct  told  her,  that  the  attack  had  suc- 
ceeded completely.  The  housekeeper  made  such  a  feeble 
attempt  to  parry  it,  that  for  the  time  being  her  cham- 
pion was  dumb.  Nor  was  this  surprising.  In  the  opin- 
ion of  both  ladies  the  sinister  charge  of  collusion  had 
now  been  proved  to  the  hilt. 

Lady  Wargrave  having  given  her  brother  due  oppor- 
tunity for  a  further  defense  of  Mrs.  Sanderson,  which 
he  had  quite  failed  to  grasp,  proceeded  coldly  and  at 
leisure  to  administer  the  coup  de  grace. 

162 


PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT 

"I  am  afraid,  Mrs.  Sanderson,"  she  said,  "that  in 
these  circumstances  only  one  course  is  open  to  you  now." 

She  was  too  adroit,  however,  to  state  exactly  what 
that  cause  was.  She  was  content  merely  to  suggest  it. 
But  Harriet  did  not  need  to  be  told  what  the  particular 
alternative  was  that  her  ladyship  had  in  mind. 

"You  wish  me  to  resign  my  position,"  she  said,  in  a 
low  calm  voice.  She  turned  with  tears  in  her  eyes 
to  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  house.  "I  beg  leave  to 
give  a  month's  notice  from  today,  my  lady.  If  you 
would  like  me  to  go  sooner,  I  will  do  so  at  any  time  you 
wish." 

The  words  and  manner  showed  a  consideration  wholly 
lacking  in  the  measure  meted  out  to  herself.  There 
was  so  little  of  pride  or  of  wounded  dignity  that  the 
tears  were  running  in  a  stream  down  the  pale  cheeks. 
Uppermost  in  Harriet  Sanderson  was  still  a  feeling  of 
profound  veneration  for  those  to  whom  she  had  dedi- 
cated the  best  years  of  her  life. 


IV 


The  ladies  of  the  Family  had  won  the  day.  Mrs.  San- 
derson was  going.  It  was  an  occasion  for  rejoicing. 
She  had  intrigued  disgracefully;  moreover,  it  had  long 
felt  that  this  clever,  unscrupulous,  plausible  woman  had 
gained  a  dangerous  ascendancy  over  the  head  of  the 
house.  But  Aunt  Charlotte,  it  seemed,  with  the  tactical 
skill  for  which  she  was  famous,  had  driven  her  into  a 
corner  and  had  forced  her  to  surrender. 

In  the  opinion  of  Sarah,  Mrs.  Sanderson  had  be- 
haved very  well.  It  was,  of  course,  impossible  to  trust 

163 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


that  sort  of  person ;  but  to  give  the  woman  her  due,  she 
had  appeared  to  feel  her  position  acutely ;  she  had  prom- 
ised, moreover,  to  undo  as  far  as  in  her  lay  the  mis- 
chief she  had  caused.  The  ladies  saw  no  inconsistency 
in  that.  They  had  formed  a  low  opinion  of  Mrs.  San- 
derson— for  what  reason  they  didn't  quite  know — but 
now  that  she  had  received  her  congee  and  they  were  to 
have  their  own  way  at  last  there  would  be  no  harm  in 
taking  up  a  magnanimous  attitude  towards  her. 

As  far  as  it  went  this  was  well  enough,  but  a  serious 
and  solemn  task  had  been  imposed  upon  various  people 
by  the  circumstances  of  the  case.  It  now  seemed  of 
vital  importance  to  those  concerned  that  Jack  should 
become  engaged  to  Marjorie  without  further  delay. 
With  that  end  in  view  the  ladies  of  the  Family  were 
now  working  like  beavers.  But  all  they  had  done  so 
far  had  not  been  enough.  In  vain  had  the  lure  been 
laid  in  sight  of  the  bird.  In  vain  had  they  used  the 
arts  and  the  subtleties  of  their  sex.  For  several  weeks 
now  Jack  and  Marjorie  had  been  thrown  together  on 
every  conceivable  pretext,  yet  the  only  result  had  been 
that  the  future  head  of  Bridport  House  had  re-affirmed 
a  fixed  intention  of  taking  a  wife  from  the  stage. 

Three  days  after  Lady  Wargrave  had  gained  her  signal 
triumph  over  Mrs.  Sanderson,  the  Duke  was  at  home 
to  an  odd  visitor.  In  obedience  to  the  written  request 
of  his  Grace's  private  secretary,  Sergeant  Kelly  presented 
himself  about  noon  at  Bridport  House. 

Fortunately,  Joe  had  been  able  to  arrange  for  a  day 
off  for  the  purpose.  Thus  the  dignity  of  man,  also  the 
dignity  of  the  Metropolitan  Force,  were  upheld  by  im- 
pressive mufti.  He  had  discarded  uniform  for  his  best 

164 


PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT 

Sunday  cutaway,  old  and  rather  shining  it  was  true,  but 
black  and  braided,  with  every  crease  removed  by  Eliza's 
iron ;  a  pair  of  light  gray  trousers,  superbly  checked ;  a 
white  choker  tie  and  a  horse-shoe  pin;  while  to  crown 
all,  a  massive  gold  albert,  a  recent  gift  from  Mary,  was 
slung  across  a  noble  expanse  of  broadcloth  waistcoat. 

"Good  morning,  Sergeant  Kelly,"  said  a  musical  voice, 
as  soon  as  the  visitor  was  announced.  The  Duke  in  the 
depths  of  his  invalid  chair  looked  at  him  from  under 
the  brows  of  a  satyr.  "Excuse  my  rising.  I'm  a  bit 
below  the  weather,  as  you  see." 

Joe,  secretly  prepared  for  anything  in  the  matter  of 
his  reception,  was  impressed  most  favorably  by  such  a 
greeting.  Somehow  the  note  of  cordiality  was  so  exactly 
that  of  one  man  of  the  world  to  another,  that  Joe  was 
conscious  of  a  subtle  feeling  of  flattery.  He  was  invited 
to  sit,  and  he  sat  on  the  extreme  verge  of  a  Sheraton 
masterpiece,  pensively  twisting  between  his  hands  a 
brand-new  bowler  hat  purchased  that  morning  en  route 
to  Bridport  House. 

"Sergeant  Kelly,"  said  the  Duke,  speaking  with  a  di- 
rectness that  Joe  admired,  "I  liked  your  letter.  It  was 
that  of  a  sensible  man." 

"Good  of  your  Grace  to  say  so,"  said  Joe,  a  nice  min- 
gling of  dignity  and  deference. 

"I  agree  with  you  that  the  matter  is  extremely 
vexatious." 

Joe  took  a  long  breath.  "It's  haggeravating,  sir," 
said  he. 

"Quite  so,"  said  his  Grace,  with  a  whimsical  smile. 
"But  as  a  matter  of  curiosity,  may  I  ask  what  had  led 
you  to  that  conclusion?" 

165 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"Just  this,  sir."  Joe  laid  the  new  bowler  hat  on  the 
carpet,  squared  his  shoulders  and  fixed  the  Duke  with  his 
eye.  "The  aristocracy's  the  aristocracy,  the  middle-class 
is  the  middle-class,  and  the  lower  h'orders  are  the  lower 
h'orders — there  they  are  and  you  can't  alter  'em.  Least- 
ways that  was  the  opinion  of  the  Marquis." 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  know  your  friend,"  said  the  Duke 
with  charming  urbanity,  "but  I'm  convinced  his  views 
are  sound.  If  I  read  your  letter  aright,  you  are  as 
much  opposed  to  the  suggested  alliance  between  your 
daughter  and  my  kinsman  as  I  am  myself." 

"That  is  so,  your  Grace.    It  simply  won't  do." 

"I  quite  agree,"  said  the  Duke,  "but  from  your  point 
of  view — why  won't  it?  I  ask  merely  for  information." 

"Why  won't  it,  sir?"  said  Joe,  surprisedly.  "Don't 
I  say  the  aristocracy's  the  aristocracy?" 

"In  other  words  you  disapprove  of  them  on  principle  ?" 

"No,  sir,  it's  because  I  respect  'em  so  highly,"  said 
Joe,  with  a  simple  largeness  that  bore  no  trace  of  the 
sycophant.  "I've  not  reggerlated  the  traffic  at  Hyde  Park 
Corner  all  these  years  without  learning  that  it  won't 
do  to  keep  on  mixing  things  up  in  the  way  we're 
doing  at  present.  Things  are  in  a  state  of  flux,  as 
you  might  say." 

"Profoundly  true,"  said  the  Duke,  with  a  fine  appear- 
ance of  gravity.  "And  I  have  asked  you  to  come  here, 
Sergeant  Kelly,  to  advise  me  in  a  very  delicate  matter. 
In  the  first  place,  I  assume  that  you  have  withheld  your 
consent  to  this  ridiculous  marriage." 

"That  is  so,  your  Grace.  But  the  young  parties  are 
that  headstrong  they  may  not  respect  their  elders.  I 
told  the  young  gentleman  what  my  feeling  was,  and  I 

166 


PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT 

told  the  girl,  but  I'm  sorry  to  say  they  laughed  at  me. 
Yes,  sir,  society  is  in  a  state  of  flux  and  no  mistake." 

"Well,  Sergeant  Kelly,  what's  to  be  done?" 

"I  should  like  your  Grace  to  speak  a  word  to  the 
parties.  Seemingly  they  take  no  notice  of  me.  But  per- 
haps they  might  of  you,  sir." 

The  Duke  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  sir,  they  only  laugh  at  me,"  said  Joe.  "But 
with  you  it  would  be  different."  And  then  with  admir- 
able directness:  "Why  not  see  the  girl  and  give  her 
your  views  in  the  matter?  She's  very  sensible  and 
she's  been  well  brought  up." 

The  Duke  looked  at  his  visitor  steadily.  If  his  Grace 
was  in  search  of  arriere  pensee,  he  failed  to  find  a  sign 
of  it  in  that  transparently  honest  countenance. 

"A  bold  suggestion,"  he  said,  with  a  smile.  "But  I 
don't  know  that  I  have  any  particular  aptitude  for  han- 
dling headstrong  young  women." 

Joe  promptly  rebutted  the  ducal  modesty.  "Your 
words  would  carry  weight,  sir.  She's  a  girl  who  knows 
what's  what,  I  give  you  my  word." 

The  Duke  could  hardly  keep  from  laughing  outright  at 
the  sublime  seriousness  of  this  old  bobby.  But  at  the 
same  time  curiosity  stirred  him.  What  sort  of  a  girl 
was  this  who  owned  such  a  genial  grotesque  of  a  father? 
It  would  impinge  on  the  domain  of  comic  opera  to  instal 
such  a  being  as  the  future  chatelaine  of  Bridport  House. 
Still,  as  his  visitor  shrewdly  said,  society  was  in  a  state 
of  flux. 

"My  own  belief  is,"  said  Joe,  "that  she's  the  best  girl 
in  England,  and  if  your  Grace  would  set  your  point  of 

167 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


riew  before  her  as  you  have  set  it  before  me,  I'm  think- 
ing she'd  do  her  best  to  help  us." 

The  Duke  was  impressed  by  such  candor,  such  open- 
ness, such  simplicity.  After  all,  there  was  just  a  chance 
that  things  might  take  a  more  hopeful  turn. 

"She's  not  one  to  go  where  she's  not  wanted,  sir," 
said  Joe.  "And  my  belief  is  that  if  you  have  a  little 
talk  with  her  and  let  her  know  how  you  feel  about  it, 
you  may  be  spared  a  deal  o'  trouble." 

"You  really  think  that?"  said  the  Duke  with  a  sigh 
of  relief. 

"I  do,  sir.  Leastways,  if  you  ain't,  Joseph  Kelly  will 
be  disappointed." 

Such  disinterestedness  was  not  exactly  flattering,  yet 
the  Duke  was  touched  by  it.  Indeed,  Sergeant  Kelly's 
sturdy  common  sense  was  so  reassuring  that  he  was 
invited  to  have  a  cigar.  At  the  request  of  his  host,  he 
pressed  the  bell,  one  long  and  one  short,  and  in  the  pro- 
cess of  time  a  servant  appeared  with  a  box  of  Coronas. 
Joe  chose  one,  smelt  it,  placed  it  to  his  ear  and  then 
put  it  sedately  in  his  pocket. 

"I'll  not  smoke  it  now,  sir,"  he  said  urbanely.  "I'll  keep 
it  until  I  can  really  enjoy  it." 

He  was  graciously  invited  to  take  several.  With  an 
air  of  polite  deprecation  he  helped  himself  to  three  more. 
Then  he  realized  that  the  time  had  come  to  withdraw. 

The  parting  was  one  of  mutual  esteem.  If  the  girl 
would  consent  to  pay  a  visit  to  Bridport  House,  the  Duke 
would  see  her  gladly.  But  again  his  Grace  affirmed  that 
he  was  not  an  optimist.  Society  was  in  a  state  of  flux, 
he  quite  agreed,  democracy  was  knocking  at  the  gate 
and  none  knew  the  next  turn  in  the  game.  Still  the 

168 


PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT 

Duke  was  not  unmindful  of  Sergeant  Kelly's  remarkable 
disinterestedness,  and  took  a  cordial  leave  of  him,  fully 
prepared  to  follow  his  advice  in  this  affair  of  thorns. 

As  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  upon  the  dignified  form 
of  Sergeant  Kelly,  the  Duke  lay  back  in  his  chair  fighting 
a  storm  of  laughter.  Cursed  with  a  sense  of  humor, 
at  all  times  a  great  handicap  for  such  a  one  as  himself, 
its  expression  had  seldom  been  less  opportune  or  more 
uncomfortable.  For  there  was  really  nothing  to  laugh 
at  in  a  matter  of  this  kind.  The  thing  was  too  grimly 
serious. 

Still,  for  the  moment,  this  amateur  of  the  human  com- 
edy was  the  victim  of  a  divided  mind.  He  wanted  to 
laugh  until  he  ached  over  this  solemn  policeman  uphold- 
ing the  fabric  of  society. 

"By  gad,  he's  right,"  Albert  John  ruminated,  as  he 
dipped  gout-ridden  fingers  in  his  ravished  cigar  box. 
"Things  are  in  a  state  of  flux."  He  cut  off  the  end  of 
a  cigar.  "My  own  view  is  that  this  monstrous  bluff 
which  these  poor  fools  have  allowed  some  of  us  to  put 
up  since  the  Conquest,  more  or  less,  will  mighty  soon 
be  about  our  ears.  However," — Albert  John  placed 
the  cigar  between  his  lips — "it  hardly  does  to  say  so." 

For  a  time  this  was  the  sum  of  his  reflections.  Then 
he  pressed  the  bell  at  his  elbow  and  the  servant  re- 
appeared. 

"Ask  Mr.  Twalmley  to  be  good  enough  to  telephone 
to  Mr.  Dinneford.  I  wish  to  see  him  at  once." 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  TRAGIC  COIL 

I 

MARY,  breakfasting  late  and  at  leisure,  before 
her  ride  at  eleven,  had  propped  the  Morning 
Post  against  the  coffee-pot.  Milly  was  arrang- 
ing roses  in  a  blue  bowl. 

"I'm  miserable!"  Mary  suddenly  proclaimed.  She 
had  let  her  eyes  stray  to  the  column  devoted  to  marriage 
and  the  giving  in  marriage,  and  at  last  she  had  flung  the 
paper  away  from  her. 

"Get  on  with  your  breakfast,"  said  the  practical  Milly. 
"I've  really  no  patience  with  you." 

Mary  rose  from  the  table  with  big  trouble  in  her  face. 

"You're  a  gaby,"  said  Milly,  scornfully.  "If  every- 
body was  like  you  there'd  be  no  carrying  on  the  world 
at  all.  You're  absurd.  Mother  is  quite  annoyed  with 
you,  and  so  am  I." 

"I'm  simply  wretched."  The  tone  was  very  far  from 
that  of  the  fine  resolute  creature  whom  Milly  adored. 

The  truth  was  Mary  had  been  following  a  policy  of 
drift  and  it  was  beginning  to  tell  upon  her.  Nearly  a 
week  had  gone  since  the  visit  to  Laxton  had  disclosed  a 
state  of  things  which  had  trebly  confounded  confusion. 
Besides,  that  ill-timed  pilgrimage  had  given  duty  a  sharper 

170 


A  TRAGIC  COIL 


point,  a  keener  edge,  but  as  yet  she  had  not  gathered 
the  force  of  will  to  meet  the  hard  logic  of  the  matter 
squarely. 

In  spite  of  a  growing  resolve  to  make  an  end  of  a 
situation  that  all  at  once  had  become  intolerable,  she  had 
weakly  consented  to  ride  that  morning  with  Jack  as 
usual.  So  far  he  had  proved  the  stronger,  no  doubt 
because  two  factors  of  supreme  importance  were  on  his 
side.  One  was  the  promise  into  which  very  incautiously 
she  had  let  herself  be  lured,  to  which  he  had  ruthlessly 
held  her,  the  other  the  simple  fact  that  she  was  deeply 
in  love  with  him.  It  had  been  very  perilous  to  tem- 
porize, yet  having  been  weak  enough  to  do  so,  each  pass- 
ing day  tightened  her  bonds.  The  little  scheme  had 
failed.  Laxton  had  caused  not  the  slightest  change  in 
his  attitude ;  he  was  not  the  kind  of  man  to  be  influenced 
by  things  of  that  kind;  only  a  simpleton  like  herself 
would  expect  him  to  be !  No,  the  plain  truth  was  he  was 
set  more  than  ever  on  not  giving  her  up,  and  it  was  going 
to  be  a  desperate  business  to  compel  him.  To  make 
matters  worse  his  attraction  for  her  was  great.  There 
was  a  force,  a  quality  about  him  which  she  didn't  know 
how  to  resist.  When  they  were  apart  she  made  resolves 
which  when  they  were  together  she  found  herself  unable 
to  keep.  The  truth  was,  the  cry  of  nature  was  too 
strong. 

Milly  looked  up  from  her  roses  to  study  a  picture  of 
distraction. 

"You  odd  creature."    A  toss  of  a  sagacious  head. 

The  charge  was  admitted  frankly,  freely,  and  fully. 

"I  don't  understand  you  in  the  least."  A  wrinkling 
of  a  pert  nose. 

171 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"I  don't  understand  myself." 

Milly  looked  at  her  wonderingly.  "I  really  don't. 
You  are  quite  beyond  me.  If  you  were  actually  afraid 
of  these  people,  which  I  don't  for  a  moment  think  you 
are,  one  might  begin  to  see  what's  at  the  back  of  your 
absurd  mind." 

"Why  don't  you  think  I'm  afraid  of  them?"  Mary 
in  spite  of  herself  was  a  little  amused  by  the  down- 
rightness. 

The  question  brought  her  right  up  against  an  eye 
of  very  honest  admiration. 

"Because,  Miss  Lawrence,  it  simply  isn't  in  you  to  be 
afraid  of  anybody." 

Princess  Bedalia  shook  a  rueful  head.  "You  say  that 
because  you  don't  know  all.  I'm  in  a  mortal  funk  of 
Bridport  House." 

"That  I  won't  believe,"  said  the  robust  Milly.  "And 
if  a  fit  of  high-falutin'  sentiment,  for  which  you'll  get 
not  an  ounce  of  credit,  causes  you  to  throw  away  your 
happiness,  and  turn  your  life  into  a  sob-story,  neither 
my  mother  nor  I  will  ever  forgive  you,  so  there !" 

"You  seem  to  forget  that  I  am  the  housekeeper's 
niece." 

"As  though  it  mattered."  The  pert  nose  twitched 
furiously.  "As  though  it  matters  a  row  of  little  apples. 
You  are  yourself — your  big  and  splendid  self.  Any  man 
is  lucky  to  get  you." 

But  the  large,  long-lashed  eyes  were  full  of  pain. 
"We  look  at  things  so  differently.  I  can't  explain  what 
I  mean  or  what  I  feel,  but  I  want  to  see  the  whole  thing, 
if  I  can,  as  others  see  it." 

"We  are  the  others — mother  and  I,"  said  Milly, 

172 


A  TRAGIC  COIL 


stoutly.  "But  as  we  are  not  titled  snobs  with  Bridport 
House  stamped  on  our  notepaper,  I  suppose  we  don't 
count." 

"That's  not  fair."  A  curious  look  came  into  Mary's 
face,  which  Milly  had  noticed  before  and,  for  a  reason 
she  couldn't  explain,  somehow  resented.  "They  have 
their  point  of  view  and  it's  right  that  they  should  have. 
Without  it  they  wouldn't  be  what  they  are,  would  they  ?" 

"You  speak  as  if  they  were  better  than  other  people." 

"Why,  of  course." 

"I  shall  begin  to  think  you  are  as  bad  as  they  are," 
Milly  burst  out  impatiently.  "You  are  the  oddest  crea- 
ture. I  can  understand  your  not  going  where  you  are 
not  wanted,  but  that's  no  reason  why  you  should  fight 
for  the  other  side." 

"I  want  them  to  have  fair  play." 

"It's  more  than  they  mean  you  to  have,  any  way." 

"One  oughtn't  to  say  that."  The  tone  had  a  quaint 
sternness,  charming  to  the  ear,  yet  with  a  great  power 
of  affront  for  the  soul  of  Milly. 

"Miss  Lawrence,"  said  that  democrat,  "you  annoy  me. 
If  you  go  on  like  this  before  mother  she'll  shake  you. 
The  trouble  with  you" — a  rather  fierce  recourse  to  a 
cigarette — "is  that  you  are  a  bit  of  a  prig.  You  must 
admit  that  you  are  a  bit  of  a  prig,  aren't  you  now?" 

"More  than  a  bit  of  one,"  sighed  Mary.  And  then 
the  light  of  humor  broke  over  her  perplexity.  In  the 
eyes  of  Milly  this  was  her  great  saving  clause;  and  in 
spite  of  an  ever-deepening  annoyance  with  her  friend 
for  the  hay  she  was  making  of  such  amazingly  brilliant 
prospects,  she  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  comic  look 
of  her  now. 

173 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"You  are  much  too  clever  to  take  things  so  seriously," 
said  Milly.  "You  are  not  the  least  bit  of  a  prig  in  any- 
thing else,  and  that's  why  you  made  me  so  angry.  Be 
sensible  and  follow  your  luck.  Jack  should  know  far 
better  than  you.  Besides,  if  you  didn't  mean  to  keep 
your  word,  why  did  you  give  it?" 

This  was  a  facer,  as  the  candid  Milly  intended  it  to  be. 

"Because  I  was  a  fool."  At  the  moment  that  seemed 
the  only  possible  answer. 


II 


The  argument  had  not  gone  farther  when  a  rather 
strident  "coo-ee"  ascending  from  the  pavement  below 
found  its  way  through  the  open  window. 

"Diana,  you  are  wanted."  The  impulsive  Milly  ran 
on  to  the  little  balcony  to  wave  a  hand  of  welcome  to  a 
young  man  in  the  street. 

It  was  the  intention,  however,  of  the  young  man  in  the 
street,  as  soon  as  he  could  find  someone  to  look  after 
his  horses,  to  come  up  and  have  a  talk  with  Mary.  To 
the  quick-witted  person  to  whom  he  made  known  that 
resolve,  he  seemed  much  graver  than  usual.  It  hardly 
required  any  special  clairvoyance  on  the  part  of  Milly  to 
realize  that  something  was  in  the  wind. 

Three  minutes  later,  Jack  had  found  his  way  up  and 
Milly  had  effaced  herself  discreetly.  This  morning  that 
warrior  was  not  quite  the  serenely  humorous  self  whom 
his  friends  found  so  engaging.  Recent  events  had  an- 
noyed him,  disquieted  him,  upset  him  generally,  and  the 
previous  afternoon  they  had  culminated  in  a  long  and 
unsatisfactory  interview  at  Bridport  House. 

174 


Those  skilled  in  the  signs  might  have  told,  from  the 
young  man's  manner,  that  he  had  cast  himself  for  a  big 
thinking  part.  This  morning  he  was  "all  out"  for  diplo- 
macy. He  would  like  Mary  to  know  that  his  back  was  to 
the  wall,  and  that  he  must  be  able  to  count  on  her  implicit- 
ly in  the  stern  fight  ahead ;  but  the  crux  of  the  problem 
was,  and  for  that  reason  he  felt  such  a  great  need  of 
cunning,  if  he  let  her  know  the  full  force  and  depth  of 
the  opposition  the  effect  upon  her  might  be  the  reverse 
of  what  he  intended.  Even  apart  from  the  stab  to  her 
pride,  she  was  quite  likely  to  make  it  a  pretext  for 
further  quixotism.  Therefore,  Mr.  John  Dinneford  had 
decided  to  walk  very  delicately  indeed  this  morning. 

His  Grace,  it  appeared,  had  asked  to  see  the  lady  in 
the  case.  Jack,  however,  scenting  peril  in  the  request, 
had  by  no  means  consented  lightly  to  that.  Diplomacy, 
assuming  a  very  large  D,  had  promptly  assured  him  that 
his  kinsman  and  fiancee  were  far  too  much  birds  of  a 
feather;  their  method  of  looking  at  large  issues  was 
ominously  alike.  Mary  had  developed  what  Jack  called 
"the  Aunt  Sanderson  viewpoint"  to  an  alarming  degree. 
Aunt  Sanderson,  no  doubt,  had  acquired  it  in  the  first 
place  from  the  fountain  head;  its  authenticity  therefore 
made  it  the  more  perilous. 

"Uncle  Albert  sends  his  compliments  and  hopes  you'll 
be  kind  enough  to  go  and  see  him."  The  statement  was 
made  so  casually  that  it  was  felt  to  be  a  masterpiece  of 
the  non-committal.  He  would  defy  anyone  to  tell  from 
his  tone  how  he  had  fought  the  old  wretch,  how  he  had 
tried  to  outwit  him,  how  he  had  done  his  damnedest  to 
short-circuit  a  most  mischievous  resolve. 

"Now."  The  diplomatist  took  her  boldly  by  a  very 
175 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


fine  pair  of  shoulders,  and  so  made  a  violent  end  of  the 
pause  which  had  followed  the  important  announcement. 
"Whatever  you  do,  be  careful  not  to  give  away  the  whole 
position.  There's  a  cunning  old  fox  to  deal  with,  and 
if  he  finds  the  weak  spot,  we're  done.'* 

"You  mean  he  thinks  as  I  do?" 

"I  don't  say  he  does  exactly,  but,  of  course,  he  may. 
When  you  come  to  Bridport  House,  you  are  up  against 
all  sorts  of  crassness." 

"Or  common  sense,  whichever  you  choose  to  call  it," 
said  the  troubled  Mary. 

"Don't  you  go  playing  for  them."  He  shook  the  fine 
shoulders  in  a  masterful  colonial  manner.  "If  you  do, 
I'll  never  forgive  you.  Bridport  House  can  be  trusted 
to  take  very  good  care  of  itself.  We've  got  to  keep  our 
own  end  going.  If  we  have  really  made  up  our  minds 
to  get  married,  no  one  has  a  right  to  prevent  us,  and  it's 
up  to  you  to  let  his  Grace  know  that." 

Again  came  the  look  of  trouble.  "But  suppose  I  don't 
happen  to  think  so?" 

"I  think  so  for  you.  In  fact,  I  think  it  so  strongly 
that  I  intend  to  answer  for  both." 

She  could  not  help  secretly  admiring  this  cool  audacity. 
At  any  rate,  it  was  the  speech  of  a  man  who  knew  his 
own  mind,  and  in  spite  of  herself  it  pleased  her. 

"Now,  remember."  Once  more  the  over-bold  wooer 
resorted  to  physical  violence:  "You  simply  can't  afford 
to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  your  fine  feelings  in  this  scene 
of  the  comedy.  As  I  say,  he's  a  cunning  old  fox  and 
he'll  play  on  them  for  all  he's  worth." 

"But  why  should  he?" 

"Because  he  knows  you  are  Mrs.  Sanderson's  niece." 
176 


A  TRAGIC  COIL 


"In  his  opinion  that  would  make  one  the  less  likely 
to  have  them,  wouldn't  it?"  She  tried  very  hard  to 
keep  so  much  as  a  suspicion  of  bitterness  out  of  her  tone, 
yet  somehow  it  seemed  almost  impossible  to  do  that. 

"He's  not  exactly  a  fool.  Nobody  knows  better  than 
he  that  your  Aunt  Sanderson  is  more  royalist  than  the 
king.  And  my  view  is  that  he  and  she  have  laid  their 
heads  together  in  order  to  work  upon  your  scruples." 

"Pray,  why  shouldn't  they?  Isn't  it  right  that  they 
should?" 

"There  you  go!"  he  said  sternly.  "Now,  look  here." 
In  the  intensity  of  the  moment  his  face  was  almost 
touching  hers.  "I'm  next  in  at  Bridport  House,  so  this 
is  my  own  private  funeral.  But  I  just  want  to  say  this. 
A  man  can't  go  knocking  about  the  world  in  the  way 
I  have  done  without  getting  through  to  certain  things. 
And  as  soon  as  that  happens  one  no  longer  sees  Bridport 
House  at  the  angle  at  which  it  sees  itself.  White  marble 
and  precedence  were  all  very  well  in  the  days  of  Queen 
Victoria,  but  they  won't  build  airships,  you  know." 

"I  never  heard  of  a  duchess  building  airships." 

"It's  the  duke  who  is  going  to  do  the  building.  The 
particular  hobo  I'm  figuring  on  has  got  to  take  a  hand  in 
all  sorts  of  stunts  at  this  moment  of  the  world's  progress 
which  will  make  his  distinguished  forbears  turn  in  their 
graves,  no  doubt.  It  seems  to  me  he's  got  to  do  a  single 
on  the  big  time,  as  they  say  in  vaudeville,  and  the  finest 
girl  in  the  western  hemisphere  must  keep  him  up  to  his 
job." 

"  'Some'  talk,"  said  Mary,  with  a  smile  rather  drawn 
and  constrained. 

"You  see" — the  force  of  his  candor  amused  her  con- 

177 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


siderably — "I've  drawn  a  big  prize  in  the  lottery,  and  if 
I  let  myself  be  robbed  of  it  by  other  people's  tomfool 
tricks,  I'm  a  guy,  a  dead-beat,  an  out  and  out  dud." 

"But  don't  you  see,"  she  urged,  laughing  a  little, 
although  suffering  bitterly,  "how  cruel  it  would  be  for 
them,  poor  souls?  We  must  think  of  them  a  little." 

"Why  should  they  come  in  at  all?" 

"I  really  think  they  ought,  poor  dears.  After  all,  they 
stand  for  something."  She  recalled  their  former  talk  on 
this  vexed  subject. 

"What  do  they  stand  for? — that's  the  point.  They 
are  an  inbred  lot,  a  mass  of  conceit  and  silly  prejudice. 
I'm  sorry  to  give  them  away  like  this,  but,  after  all,  they 
are  only  very  distant  relations  to  whom  I  owe  nothing, 
and  they  have  a  trick  of  annoying  me  unspeakably." 

"I  won't  have  you  say  such  things."  The  stern  line 
of  a  truly  adorable  mouth  was  a  delight,  a  challenge. 
"You  are  one  of  them,  whether  you  want  to  be  or 
whether  you  don't,  and  it's  your  duty  to  stand  by  them. 
Noblesse  oblige,  you  know." 

"And  that  means  a  scrupulous  respect  for  the  feelings 
of  other  people,  if  it  means  anything.  No,  let  us  see 
things  as  they  are  and  come  down  to  bedrock."  And  as 
the  Tenderfoot  spoke  after  this  manner,  he  took  a  hand 
of  hers  in  each  of  his  in  a  fashion  at  once  whimsical, 
delicate,  and  loverlike.  Somehow  he  had  the  power  to 
put  an  enchantment  upon  her.  "You've  got  to  marry  me 
whatever  happens." 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me  to  do  that."  Black  trouble  was 
now  in  her  eyes.  "Don't  ask  me  to  go  where  I'm  not 
wanted." 

"Certainly  you  shan't.  We  can  do  without  Bridport 

178 


A  TRAGIC  COIL 


House,  and  if  they  can  do  without  us,  by  all  means 
let  'em." 

"But  they  are  in  a  cleft  stick,  aren't  they?  If  you 
insist,  they  will  simply  have  to  climb  down,  and  that's 
why  it  would  be  cruel  to  make  them.  Don't  be  too  hard 
upon  them — please!"  A  sudden  change  of  voice,  rich 
and  surprising,  held  him  like  magic.  "Somehow  they 
don't  quite  seem  to  deserve  it.  They  have  their  points. 
And  they  are  really  rather  big  and  fine  if  you  see  them 
as  I  do." 

"They  are  crass,  conceited,  narrow,  ossified.  They 
think  the  world  was  made  for  'em,  instead  of  thinking 
they  were  made  for  the  world.  It's  time  they  had  a 
lesson.  And  you  and  I  have  got  to  teach  'em."  He 
took  her  wrists  and  drew  her  to  him.  "We've  got  to 
larn  'em  to  be  toads — you  and  me." 

"On  these  grounds  you  command  me!"  The  flash 
of  glorious  eyes  was  a  direct  challenge. 

"No,  on  these — you  darling."  And  he  took  her  in 
his  arms  and  held  her  in  a  grip  of  iron. 

in 

"Please,  please!" 

Reluctantly  he  let  her  go — provisionally  and  on 
sufferance. 

But  there  was  something  in  her  face  that  looked  like 
fear.  The  observant  lover  saw  it  at  once,  and  the  in- 
vincible lover  tried  to  dispel  it. 

"Why  take  it  tragically?"  he  said.  "It's  a  thing  to 
laugh  at,  really." 

She  shook  a  solemn  head.  "We  must  think  of  them 
— you  must  at  any  rate.  You  are  all  they  have,  and  you 

179 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


are  bound  to  play  for  them  as  well  as  you  know  how — 
aren't  you,  my  dear?"  The  soft  fall  of  her  voice  laid 
a  siren's  spell  upon  him.  His  eyes  glowed  as  he  looked 
at  her. 

"No,  I  don't  see  it  in  that  way,"  he  said.  "Somehow 
I  can't.  It's  my  colonial  outlook,  I  daresay — anyhow 
there  it  is — simply  us  two.  The  bedrock  of  the  matter 
is  you  and  me?  And  when  you  get  down  to  that,  other 
people  don't  come  in,  do  they  ?" 

Again  she  shook  a  head  rather  woeful  in  its  defiance. 
"Poor  Aunt  Harriet  came  to  me  yesterday.  I  wish  you 
could  have  seen  her.  This  means  the  end  of  the  world 
for  her.  She  almost  went  down  on  her  knees  to  implore 
me  not  to  marry  you." 

The  Tenderfoot  snorted  with  impatience.  "That's 
where  this  old  one-horse  island  gets  me  all  the  time. 
Things  are  all  wrong  here.  They're  positively  medi- 
eval." 

"You  forget" — the  tone  of  the  voice  was  stern  dissent 
— "she's  been  thirty  years  a  servant  in  the  Family." 

"That  should  make  her  all  the  prouder  to  see  her  niece 
married  to  the  head  of  it."  He  was  determined  to  stand 
his  ground. 

"Yes,  but  she  understands  what  it  means  to  them. 
She  has  thought  herself  into  their  skins;  she  lives  and 
moves  and  has  her  being  in  Bridport  House.  Dear  soul, 
it  makes  me  weep  to  think  of  her!  She  almost  forced 
me  to  give  you  up." 

"You  can't  do  that,  not  on  grounds  of  that  kind." 

"Why  can't  I?" 

"Because  I  won't  let  you."  She  was  bound  to  admire 
this  masculine  decision.  "Your  Aunt  Sanderson  is  a 

180 


A  TRAGIC  COIL 


woman  of  fine  character  and  Uncle  Albert  has  a  great  re- 
gard for  her,  but  why  let  ourselves  be  sidetracked  by 
prejudice?  You  see  this  is  the  call  of  the  blood,  and — 
under  Providence ! — it  means  the  grafting  of  a  very  valu- 
able new  strain  upon  a  pretty  effete  one.  I  mean  no  disre- 
spect to  Bridport  House,  but  look  what  the  system  of 
intermarriage  has  done  for  it.  From  all  one  hears  poor 
Lyme  was  better  out  of  the  world  than  in  it.  And  that 
parcel  of  stupid  women!  And,  of  course,  I  should  never 
have  been  here  at  all  if  another  couple  of  consumptive 
cousins  hadn't  suddenly  decided  to  hand  in  their  checks. 
So  much  for  the  feudal  system,  so  much  for  inbreeding 
and  marrying  to  order.  No,  it  won't  do !" 

In  spite  of  her  own  deep  conviction,  she  could  not 
hope  to  shake  such  force  and  such  sincerity.  She  was 
bound  to  admit  the  strength  of  his  case.  But  the  power 
of  his  argument  left  her  in  a  miserable  dilemma,  from 
which  there  seemed  but  one  means  of  escape.  There 
must  be  no  half-measures. 

"Let  us  be  wise  and  make  an  end  now,"  she  said  very 
softly. 

"It's  not  playing  fair  if  you  do,"  was  the  ruthless 
answer.  "Besides,  as  I  say,  Uncle  Albert  wants  to  see 
you." 

"I  am  quite  sure  it  would  be  far  better  to  end  it  all 
now." 

"You  must  go  and  see  Uncle  Albert  before  we  decide 
upon  anything,"  he  said  determinedly. 

"I  don't  mind  doing  that,  if  really  he  wishes  it." 
There  was  a  queer  little  note  of  reverence  in  her  tone, 
which  the  Tenderfoot,  having  intelligently  anticipated, 
was  inclined  to  resent  as  soon  as  he  heard  it.  "I  don't 

181 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


know  why  he  should  trouble  himself  with  me,  but  I'll 
go  as  he  asks  me  to.  But  whatever  happens  we  can't 
possibly  get  married,  unless " 

"Unless  what?"  he  demanded  sternly. 

"Unless  the  head  of  the  house  gives  a  full  and  free 
consent,  and  of  course  he'll  never  do  that." 

"It  remains  to  be  seen,  doesn't  it?" 

"Oh,  no,  it's  all  so  clear.  Poor  Aunt  Harriet  has 
made  me  realize  that.  I  never  saw  anyone  so  upset  as 
she  was  yesterday;  she  nearly  broke  down,  poor  dear. 
She  has  made  me  see  that  there  is  so  much  at  stake  for 
them  all,  that  it  simply  becomes  one's  duty  not  to  go  on." 

"Rubbish!  Rubbish!  Rubbish!"  The  Tenderfoot 
suddenly  became  tempestuous.  "Mere  parochialism,  I 
assure  you.  I've  been  back  six  months,  and  every  day  it 
strikes  me  more  and  more  what  a  lot  we've  got  to  learn. 
Our  so-called  social  fabric  is  mainly  bunkum.  Half  the 
prejudice  in  these  islands  is  a  mere  cloak  for  damnable 
incompetence.  Forgive  my  saying  just  what  is  in  my 
mind,  but  this  flunkeyism  of  ours — try  to  keep  the 
daggers  out  of  your  eyes,  my  charmer! — fairly  gets  one 
all  the  time.  In  one  form  or  another  one's  always  up 
against  it." 

"It  isn't  flunkeyism  at  all."  The  air  of  outrage  was 
nothing  less  than  adorable. 

"Let  me  finish " 

"Under  protest !"  Her  face  was  aglow  with  the  light 
of  battle. 

"It's  perfectly  absurd  to  take  a  mere  pompous  stunt 
like  Bridport  House  at  its  own  valuation." 

"I  won't  have  you  vulgar — I  won't  allow  you  to  be 
vulgar !" 

182 


A  TRAGIC  COIL 


"Be  it  so,  Miss  Prim — but  I  don't  apologize.  One's 
uncles,  cousins,  aunts,  they  are  all  alike,  whether  they 
are  yours  or  mine.  They  simply  grovel  before  material 
greatness — the  greatness  that  comes  of  money — that  be- 
gins and  ends  with  money." 

"Don't  be  rude,  sir!"  The  stamp  of  a  particularly 
smart  riding  boot,  and  a  flash  of  angry  eyes  were  as 
barbs  to  this  fiat. 

"They  are  all  so  set  on  things  that  don't  matter  a  bit, 
that  they  lose  sight  altogether  of  the  one  thing  that  is 
really  important." 

"Pray,  what  is  that?"  The  eyes  held  now  a  lurking, 
troubled  smile ;  for  him  at  that  moment,  their  fascination 
verged  upon  the  tragic. 

Suddenly  both  the  slender  wrists  were  seized  by  this 
forcible  thinker.  "Why  the  time  spirit,  you  charmer. 
And  that  just  asks  one  simple  question.  Do  you  love 
me — or  do  you  not?" 

IV 

She  tried  to  keep  her  eyes  from  his. 

"You  can't  hide  the  truth,"  he  cried  triumphantly. 
"And  if  you  think  I'm  going  to  lose  you  for  the  sake  of 
some  stupid  piece  of  prejudice  you  don't  know  what  it 
means  to  live  five  years  in  God's  own  country." 

She  seemed  to  shrink  into  herself.  "Don't  you  see  the 
impossibility  of  the  whole  thing?"  she  gasped. 

"Frankly,  I  don't,  or  I  wouldn't  be  such  a  cad  as  to 
badger  you.  If  you  marry  me  an  effete  strain  is  going 
to  be  your  debtor.  Just  look  at  them — poor  devils! 
Look  at  the  two  who  died  untimely.  That's  the  feudal 

183 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


system  of  marriage  working  to  a  logical  conclusion. 
And  if  I  put  it  squarely  to  my  kinsman,  Albert  John, 
who  is  by  no  means  a  fool,  he'd  be  the  first  to  admit 
it.  No,  it  doesn't  matter  what  your  arguments  are,  if 
you  override  the  call  of  the  blood  sooner  or  later  there's 
bound  to  be  big  trouble." 

The  conviction  of  the  tone,  the  urgency  of  the  manner 
were  indeed  hard  to  meet.  From  the  only  point  of  view 
that  really  mattered  it  was  impossible  to  gainsay  him, 
and  she  was  far  too  intelligent  to  try.  Suddenly  she 
broke  away  from  him  and  in  a  wretched  state  of  inde- 
cision and  unhappiness  flung  herself  into  a  chair. 

"The  whole  thing's  as  clear  as  daylight."  Pitilessly 
he  followed  up  the  advantage  he  had  won.  "There's 
really  no  need  to  state  it.  And  once  more,  to  come  down 
to  bedrock,  far  better  to  make  an  end  of  Bridport  House 
and  all  that  it  stands  for — just  what  it  does  stand  for  I 
have  not  been  able  to  make  out — than  that  it  should 
perpetuate  a  race  of  inbred  incompetents  who  are  merely 
a  fixed  charge  on  the  community." 

"Oh,  you  don't  see — you  don't  see !"  The  words  were 
rather  feeble,  and  rather  wild,  but  just  then  they  were 
all  she  could  offer.  Yet  in  spite  of  herself,  and  in  spite 
of  the  half-promise  the  intensely  unhappy  Aunt  Harriet 
had  wrung  from  her  on  the  previous  afternoon,  the  clear- 
cut  determination  of  this  young  man,  his  force  and  his 
breadth,  his  absolute  conviction  were  beginning  to  tell 
heavily. 

"You  are  going  to  Bridport  House  to  have  a  word 
with  my  kinsman.  And  if  you're  true  blue — and  I  know 
you  are  that — you  will  make  him  see  honest  daylight. 
And  it  ought  to  be  easy,  because  he  has  only  to  look 

184 


A  TRAGIC  COIL 


at  you — the  finest  thing  up  to  now  that  has  found  its 
way  on  to  this  old  planet,  in  order  to  realize  that  he's 
right  up  against  it." 

He  knew  his  own  mind  and  she  didn't  know  hers. 
Such  a  man  was  terribly  hard  to  resist. 

"He  says  any  morning  at  twelve.    I  suggest  tomorrow." 

"You  insist?"  She  was  struggling  helplessly  in 
meshes  of  her  own  weaving. 

"I  insist.  And  my  last  word  is  that  if  you  let  the 
old  beast  down  us,  as  of  course  he'll  try  to  do,  I  go  back 
to  B.  C.  and  remain  a  single  man  to  the  end  of  my  days. 
And  I'm  not  out  for  that,  as  long  as  there  is  half  a  chance 
of  something  better.  So  that's  that."  In  the  style  of 
the  great  lover  he  laid  a  hand  on  each  shoulder,  looked 
into  the  troubled  eyes  and  kissed  her.  "And  now,  if 
you  please,  we  will  witch  the  world  with  noble  horse- 
manship." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
A  BUSY  MORNING 


THE  next  morning  was  a  busy  one  for  his  Grace, 
and  it  also  marked  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  Brid- 
port  House.  Soon  after  ten  the  ball  opened  with 
the  inauspicious  arrival  of  Lady  Wargrave.  The  head 
of  the  Family  had  just  unfolded  his  newspaper  and  put 
on  his  spectacles  when  her  ladyship  was  announced. 

As  the  redoubtable  Charlotte  entered  the  room,  the  hard 
glitter  of  her  eyes  and  the  forward  thrust  of  a  dominant 
chin  were  ominous  indeed.  Bitter  experience  made  her 
brother  only  too  keenly  alive  to  these  portents. 

Without  any  beating  about  the  bush  she  came  at  once 
to  the  point. 

"What's  this  I  hear,  Johnnie?  Sarah  tells  me  you 
have  revoked  that  woman's  notice." 

"Woman!"  temporized  his  Grace.  "What  woman?" 
The  tone  was  velvet. 

She  glowered  at  him. 

"There's  only  one  woman  in  this  household,  my 
friend." 

The  Duke  laid  down  his  Times  with  an  air  of  ex- 
tremely well  assumed  indifference.  Were  the  parish 
pump  and  the  minor  domesticities  all  she  could  find  to 

186 


A  BUSY  MORNING 


interest  her,  while  all  sorts  of  Radical  infamies  played 
Old  Harry  with  the  British  Constitution? 

Lady  Wargrave,  however,  was  well  inured  to  this 
familiar  gambit. 

"Come,  Johnnie,"  she  said  tartly,  "don't  waste  time. 
The  matter's  too  serious.  Sarah  says  you  have  asked 
Mrs.  Sanderson  to  stay  on." 

"Yes,  I  have  asked  her  to  be  good  enough  to  recon- 
sider her  decision,"  said  his  Grace  in  the  slightly  forensic 
manner  of  the  gilded  chamber. 

"On  what  grounds,  may  one  ask?" 

"I  merely  put  it  to  her" — he  now  began  to  choose  each 
word  with  a  precision  that  made  his  sister  writhe — "that 
she  was  indispensable  to  the  general  comfort  and  well- 
being  of  a  man  as  old  and  gout-ridden  as  myself." 

"Did  you,  indeed!" 

It  was  a  facer.  And  yet  it  might  have  been  foreseen. 
Perhaps  the  ladies  had  been  a  little  too  elated  by  their 
coup  de  main;  or,  had  they  assumed  too  confidently  that 
at  last  they  had  made  an  end  of  a  shameless  intriguer? 

Yes,  a  facer.  Charlotte  could  have  slain  her  brother. 
He  had  given  away  the  whole  position.  It  was  the  act 
of  a  traitor.  In  a  voice  shaken  with  anger  she  proceeded 
in  no  measured  terms  to  tell  him  what  she  thought  of 
him. 

His  Grace  bore  the  tirade  calmly  and  with  fortitude. 
He  had  an  instinct  for  justice — long  a  source  of  incon- 
venience to  its  possessor ! — which  now  insisted  that  there 
was  something  to  be  said  for  the  enemy  point  of  view. 
Still  he  might  not  have  borne  its  presentment  so  patiently 
had  Charlotte  not  shown  her  usual  cunning.  "She  did 
not  speak  for  herself,"  she  was  careful  to  assure  him, 

187 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"but  for  the  sake  of  the  Family  as  a  whole."  The  pres- 
ence of  this  woman  at  Bridport  House  could  no  longer 
be  tolerated. 

To  this  the  Duke  said  little,  but  he  committed  himself 
to  the  statement  that  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  much  maligned 
and  that  they  all  owed  a  great  deal  to  her  devotion. 

This  was  too  much  for  Charlotte.  She  bubbled  over. 
"You  must  be  mad!"  Her  voice  was  like  the  croak  of 
a  raven. 

"Personally,"  rejoined  his  mellifluous  Grace,  "I  am 
particularly  grateful  that  she  has  consented  to  stay  on." 

"You're  mad,  my  friend." 

"So  are  we  all."  His  Grace  folded  the  Times  imper- 
turbably. 

Lady  Wargrave  was  defeated.  She  abruptly  decided 
to  drop  the  subject.  However,  she  did  not  quit  the  room 
until  one  last  bolt  had  been  winged  at  her  adversary, 
yet  in  order  to  propel  it  she  had  to  impose  an  iron 
restraint  on  her  feelings. 

"Before  I  go" — she  turned  as  she  got  to  the  door — 
"there's  something  else  I  should  like  to  say.  Jack's 
mother  is  in  town  and  is  staying  with  me.  Like  all  the 
Parington's  she  has  plenty  of  sense.  She  will  welcome 
the  Marjorie  arrangement — thinks  it  quite  providential 
— has  told  her  son  so — and  she  looks  to  you  as  the  head 
of  the  Family  to  see  that  it  doesn't  miscarry." 

Her  brother's  ugly  mouth  and  explosive  eyes  were  not 
lost  upon  Charlotte,  but  before  he  could  reply  she  had 
made  a  strategic  retirement.  Did  these  futile  women  ex- 
pect him  to  play  the  -matrimonial  agent  ?  The  mere  sug- 
gestion was  infuriating,  yet  well  he  knew  the  extreme 
urgency  of  the  matter.  The  whole  situation  called  for 

188 


A  BUSY  MORNING 


great  delicacy.  A  combination  of  subtle  finesse  and  iron 
will  was  needed  if  the  institution  to  which  he  pinned 
his  faith  was  not  to  be  shaken  to  its  foundations. 


II 

Lady  Wargrave  had  gone  but  a  few  minutes  when 
Jack  arrived  at  Bridport  House.  He  had  to  inform  his 
kinsman  that  Mary  Lawrence  would  appear  at  twelve 
o'clock. 

The  Duke  was  in  a  vile  temper.  Charlotte  had  fretted 
it  already;  moreover,  the  disease  from  which  he  suf- 
fered had  undermined  it  long  ago;  and  at  the  best  of 
times  the  mere  sight  of  this  young  Colonial,  with  his  wild 
ideas,  was  about  as  much  as  he  could  bear.  However, 
he  was  too  astute  a  man  and  far  too  well  found  in  the 
ways  of  his  world  not  to  be  able  to  mask  his  feelings  on 
an  occasion  of  this  magnitude.  The  fellow  was  a  per- 
petual source  of  worry  and  annoyance,  yet  so  much  was 
at  stake  that  the  Duke,  in  order  to  deal  with  him,  sum- 
moned all  the  bonhomie  of  a  prospective  father-in-law. 
If  anything  could  have  bridged  the  gulf  such  tones  of 
honey  must  surely  have  done  so. 

Jack,  however,  was  in  no  mood  to  accept  soft  speeches, 
no  matter  how  flattering  to  the  self-esteem  of  a  raw 
Colonial!  He  was  determined  to  put  all  to  the  touch. 
These  people  must  learn  the  limit  of  their  power.  And 
as  it  was  the  Tenderfoot's  habit  to  leave  nothing  to 
chance  he  began  with  the  bold  but  simple  declaration  that 
nothing  would  induce  him  to  give  up  the  finest  girl  in 
the  country.  And  he  hoped  when  Mary  appeared  at 

189 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


twelve  o'clock  his  kinsman  would  bear  in  mind  that  very 
important  fact. 

Months  ago  his  Grace  had  begun  to  despair  of  the 
role  of  the  modern  Chesterfield.  Even  since  the  young 
ass  had  first  reported  himself  at  Bridport  House,  very 
sound  advice,  based  on  intimate  knowledge  and  first-hand 
experience,  had  been  lavished  upon  him.  The  best  had 
been  done  to  correct  the  republican  ideas  he  had  gathered 
in  the  western  hemisphere.  He  lacked  nothing  in  the 
way  of  counsel  and  precept.  But  the  seed  had  fallen  on 
unreceptive  soil,  nay,  on  ground  singularly  barren. 
From  the  first  the  novice  had  shown  precious  little  incli- 
nation to  heed  the  fount  of  wisdom. 

The  Duke  asked  the  young  man  to  look  at  the  matter 
in  a  common  sense  way.  He  would  have  an  extraordi- 
narily difficult  place  to  fill  J  therefore,  it  was  his  clear 
duty  to  trust  those  who  knew  the  ropes.  The  lady  of 
his  choice  was  a  case  for  experts.  Special  qualities,  in- 
herited aptitudes  were  needed  in  the  wife  he  married! 
Surely  he  must  realize  that?  I 

The  Tenderfoot  said  bluntly  that  he  did  and  that  Mary 
Lawrence  had  them. 

His  Grace  managed  to  hold  a  growing  impatience  in 
check.  But  the  answer  of  the  novice  had  revealed  such  a 
confusion  of  ideas  that  it  was  hard  to  treat  it  seriously. 

"Unless  a  woman  has  been  born  to  the  thing  and  bred 
tip  in  it,  how  can  she  hope  to  be  equal  to  the  task  ?" 

"Plenty  of  'em  are,"  said  the  Tenderfoot.  "Anyhow 
they  seem  to  make  a  pretty  good  bluff  at  it" 

His  Grace  shook  a  somber  head. 

"You  can't  deny  that  the  Upper  Crust  is  always  being 
recruited  from  the  people  underneath." 

190 


A  BUSY  MORNING 


"Immensely  to  the  detriment  of  the  Constitution,"  said 
his  Grace  forensically. 

"It  won't  be  so  in  this  case,"  said  the  Tenderfoot. 
"Any  family  is  devilish  lucky  that  persuades  Mary 
Lawrence  to  enter  it.  She's  a  very  exceptional  girL 
And  when  you  see  her,  sir,  I'm  sure  you'll  say  so." 

"A  young  woman  of  ability,  no  doubt."  The  Duke 
was  growing  irritated  beyond  measure,  yet  he  was  deter- 
mined to  give  no  hint  of  his  frame  of  mind.  "These — 
these  bohemians  always  are.  But  if  you'll  allow  me  to 
say  so,  the  mere  fact  that  she  is  ready  to  undertake 
responsibilities  of  which  she  can  know  nothing  proves 
the  nature  of  her  limitations." 

The  hit  was  so  palpable  that  Jack  felt  bound  to  counter 
it  as  well  as  he  could.  But  his  eagerness  to  do  so  led 
him  into  a  tragic  blunder.  "That's  where  you  do  her  an 
injustice,"  he  said,  not  giving  himself  time  to  weigh  his 
words.  "She  didn't  know  that  she  might  have  to  be  a 
duchess  when  she  promised  to  marry  me." 

The  folly  of  such  a  speech  was  apparent  to  the  young 
man  almost  before  it  was  uttered.  A  sudden  heighten- 
ing of  a  concentrated  gaze  made  him  curse  his  own 
damnable  impetuosity.  He  saw  at  once  that  the  admis- 
sion would  be  used  against  him;  moreover,  an  intense 
desire  that  Mary  should  have  fair  play  led  him  into 
further  pitfalls.  "The  odd  thing  is,"  he  said  in  his 
blunderer's  way,  "that  she  happens  to  see  things  here  at 
the  angle  at  which  you  see  them,  sir.  At  least,  I  always 
tell  her  so." 

His  kinsman  smiled.  "That  gives  us  hope  at  any 
rate."  And  he  even  showed  a  glint  of  cheerfulness. 

The  Tenderfoot  had  a  desire  to  bite  off  his  tongue, 

191 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


He  felt  himself  floundering  deeper  and  deeper  into  a 
morass.  A  sickening  sensation  crept  upon  him  that  he 
had  put  himself  at  the  mercy  of  this  crafty  old  Jesuit. 

"Now,  sir,  don't  go  taking  an  unfair  advantage  of 
anything  I  may  have  told  you."  The  sheer  impotence  of 
such  a  speech  served  only  to  emphasize  his  tragic  folly. 

By  now  there  was  a  sinister  light  in  the  eyes  of  his 
Grace.  The  unlucky  Tenderfoot  could  hardly  stifle  a 
groan  of  vexation.  Only  a  born  idiot  would  have  taken 
pains  to  put  such  a  weapon  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy! 

Overcome  by  a  sudden  hopeless  anger  the  young  man 
rose  from  his  chair  and  fled  the  room.  His  course  was 
not  stayed  until  he  had  passed  headlong  down  the  white 
marble  staircase  and  out  of  doors  into  a  golden  morm'ng 
of  July.  For  the  next  two  hours  he  ranged  the  Park 
grass.  It  was  the  only  means  he  had  of  working  off  an 
irritation  and  self-disgust  that  were  almost  unbearable. 

in 

Youth  and  inexperience  might  have  put  a  weapon  into 
the  hand  of  his  Grace,  yet  when  the  clock  on  the 
chimneypiece  struck  twelve  he  was  in  a  very  evil  mood. 
The  task  before  him  was  not  at  all  to  his  taste ;  and  the 
more  he  considered  it  the  less  he  liked  the  part  he  had 
now  to  play. 

From  various  sources  he  had  heard  enough  of  the  girl 
to  stimulate  his  curiosity.  Apart  from  a  lover's  hyper- 
bole, of  which  he  took  no  account  whateverr  impartial 
observers,  viewing  her  from  afar,  had  commented  upon 
her;  moreover,  there  was  the  extremely  piquant  nature 
of  her  antecedents.  She  was  a  niece  of  the  faithful 

192 


A  BUSY  MORNING 


Sanderson,  she  was  also  the  daughter  of  a  police  con- 
stable. 

The  Duke  was  apt  to  plume  himself  that  his  instinct 
for  diplomacy  amounted  to  second  nature.  But,  he  rue- 
fully reflected,  his  powers  in  this  direction  were  likely 
to  be  tested  to  the  full.  His  task  seemed  to  bristle  with 
difficulties.  Bridport  House  was  no  place  for  a  young 
woman  of  this  kind,  but  it  was  not  going  to  be  an  easy 
matter  to  tell  her  that  in  just  so  many  words.  The  best 
he  had  to  hope  for  was  that  she  would  prove  a  person 
of  common  sense. 

When  at  five  minutes  past  the  hour  Miss  Lawrence 
was  announced,  for  one  reason  or  another,  the  Duke  was 
in  a  state  of  inconvenient  curiosity.  And  as  if  the  mere 
circumstances  of  the  case  did  not  themselves  suffice,  a 
chain  of  odd  and  queer  reflections  chose  to  assail  his 
mind  at  the  very  moment  of  her  appearance. 

It  was  terribly  inconvenient  for  his  Grace  to  rise  from 
his  chair,  mainly  for  the  reason  that  one  swollen,  snow- 
booted  foot  reclined  at  ease  on  another.  But  with  an 
effort  that  wrung  him  with  pain  he  contrived  to  stand  up. 

"Please  don't  move,"  said  a  voice  deep,  clear,  and 
musical,  while  he  was  still  in  the  act  of  rising.  "Oh, 
don't— please !" 

But  without  making  any  immediate  reply  the  Duke 
poised  himself  as  well  as  he  could  on  one  foot,  more  or 
less  in  the  manner  of  an  emu,  and  bowed  rather  grimly. 
The  dignity  of  the  whole  proceeding  was  perhaps  slightly 
over-emphasized,  it  was  almost  as  if  he  intended  to 
overawe  his  visitor  with  the  note  of  the  grand  seigneur. 

Whether  this  was  the  case  or  not  the  bow  was  re- 
turned ;  and  slight  as  it  was,  it  had  a  dignity  that  matched 

193 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


his  own.  Also  it  was  touched  ever  so  gently  with 
humor.  A  pair  of  gravely-searching  eyes  met  the 
hooded,  serious,  half-ironical  orbs  of  his  Grace. 

"Nice  of  you  to  come  and  see  an  invalid,"  he  said 
slowly,  very  slowly,  with  a  good  deal  of  manner. 

"A  great  pleasure,"  she  smiled  from  the  topmost  inch 
of  her  remarkable  height. 

While  these  brief,  and  on  his  part  decidedly  painful 
maneuvers  had  been  going  on,  the  man  of  the  world  had 
been  busily  seeking  something  of  which  so  far  he  had 
not  been  able  to  find  a  trace.  In  manner  and  bearing 
there  was  not  a  flaw. 

Already  the  expert's  eye  had  been  struck  by  a  look  of 
distinction  that  was  extraordinary.  She  was  undoubt- 
edly handsome,  nay,  more  than  handsome;  she  had  the 
subtle  look  of  race  which  gives  to  beauty  a  cachet,  a 
quality  of  permanence.  Her  height  was  beyond  the  com- 
mon, but  every  line  of  the  long,  slim  frame  was  a  thing 
of  elegance,  of  molded  delicacy.  She  was  perhaps  a 
shade  too  thin,  but  it  gave  her  an  indefinable  style  which 
charmed,  in  spite  of  himself,  this  shrewd,  instructed  ob- 
server. Then  her  dress  and  her  hat,  her  neat  gloves  and 
boots,  although  they  were  models  of  reticence,  were  all 
touched  by  a  subtle  air  of  fashion  which  seemed  some- 
how to  reflect  their  wearer. 

The  "Chorus  Girl"  was  in  the  nature  of  a  surprise. 
The  Duke  indicated  a  chair,  on  the  edge  of  which  she 
perched,  straight  as  a  willow,  her  chin  held  steadily,  her 
amused  eyes  veiled  with  a  becoming  gravity.  As  the 
Duke  painfully  reseated  himself  he  felt  a  cool  scrutiny 
upon  him.  And  that  very  quality  of  coolness  was  a 
little  provocative.  In  the  circumstances  of  the  case  it 

194 


A  BUSY  MORNING 


had  hardly  a  right  to  be  there.  To  himself  it 
was  most  proper,  but  in  this  young  woman,  a  police 
constable's  daughter,  who  earned  her  living  in  the  theater, 
a  little  embarrassment  of  some  kind  would  have  been 
an  added  grace.  If  anything  however  she  had  more  com- 
posure than  he ;  and  in  spite  of  the  charm  and  the  power 
of  a  personality  that  was  vivid  yet  clear-cut,  he  could 
not  help  resenting  the  fact  just  a  little. 

When  at  last  he  had  slowly  resettled  himself  on  his 
two  chairs  he  turned  eyes  of  ironical  power  full  upon 
her.  Yes,  she  was  amazingly  handsome,  and  she  re- 
minded him  strangely  of  a  face  he  had  seen.  "I  wonder 
if  you  know  why  I  have  asked  you  to  be  so  kind 
as  to  come  here,"  were  the  first  words  he  spoke.  And 
he  seemed  to  weigh  each  one  very  carefully  before  he 
uttered  it. 

"I  think  I  do,  at  least  I  think  I  may  guess."  The 
note  of  absolute  frankness  was  so  much  more  than  he 
had  a  right  to  look  for  that  it  pleased  him  more  than 
it  need  have  done. 

"Well?"  he  said,  with  a  gentleness  in  his  voice  of 
which  he  was  not  aware. 

"I'm  afraid  I've  been  causing  a  lot  of  trouble."  The 
tone  of  regret  was  so  perfectly  sincere  that  it  threw 
him  off  his  guard.  He  had  not  expected  this,  nay,  he 
had  looked  for  something  totally  different.  The  girl  was 
a  lady,  no  matter  what  her  private  circumstances  might 
be,  and  with  a  sudden  deep  annoyance  he  felt  that  it 
was  going  to  be  supremely  difficult  to  say  in  just  so 
many  words  what  he  had  to  say. 

To  his  relief,  however,  she  seemed  with  the  flair  of  her 
sex  at  once  to  divine  his  difficulty.  This  splendid-looking 

195 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


old  man,  every  inch  of  whom  was  grand  seigneur,  poor 
old  snowboot  included!  was  already  asking  mutely  for 
her  help  in  a  situation  that  she  knew  he  must  dislike 
intensely.  In  his  odd  silence,  in  the  defensive  arrogance 
of  his  manner  there  was  appeal  to  her  own  fineness. 
She  could  not  help  feeling  an  instinctive  sympathy  with 
this  old  grandee,  who  at  the  very  outset  was  finding 
himself  unequal  to  the  task  imposed  upon  him  by  the 
circumstances  of  the  case. 

They  entered  on  a  long  pause,  and  it  was  left  to  her 
to  break  it. 

"I  didn't  know  when  I  promised  to  marry  Jack  that 
he  would  be  the  next  Duke  of  Bridport,"  she  said  very 
slowly  at  last. 

The  simple  speech  was  intended  to  help  him,  a  fact 
of  which  he  was  well  aware.  And  with  a  sense  of  acute 
annoyance  he  felt  a  latent  chivalry  begin  to  stir  him;  it 
was  a  chord  that  she,  of  all  people,  had  no  right  to 
touch. 

"Didn't  you?"  he  said;  and  in  the  grip  of  this  new 
emotion  it  would  have  been  not  unpleasant  to  add 
"My  dear." 

"Of  course  I'm  much  to  blame,"  she  went  on,  en- 
couraged by  his  tone.  "I  realize  that  one  ought  to  have 
made  inquiries." 

He  was  clearly  puzzled.  From  under  heavily  knitted 
brows  his  keen  eyes  peered  at  her.  "But  why?"  An 
instinct  for  fair  play  framed  the  question  on  her  behalf. 

A  note  of  pain  entered  the  charming  voice.  "Oh,  one 
ought,"  she  said.  "It  was  one's  duty  to  know  who  and 
what  he  was  and  all  about  him." 

196 


A  BUSY  MORNING 


"Forgive  me  if  I  don't  altogether  agree."  In  spite  of 
himself  he  was  being  conquered  by  this  largeness  and 
magnanimity.  So  fully  was  he  prepared  for  something 
else  that  he  was  now  rather  at  a  loss.  "In  any  case,"  he 
said,  "the  fault  hardly  seems  to  be  yours." 

"It  is  kind  of  you  to  say  that."  A  pair  of  wide  eyes, 
long-lashed  and  luminous,  which  seemed  oddly  familiar, 
raked  him  with  a  wonderful  candor.  "But  I  seem  to 
be  giving  enormous  trouble  to  others — trouble  it  would 
have  been  easy  to  spare  them." 

Again  his  Grace  dissented.  Surprise  was  growing, 
along  with  that  other,  that  even  more  inconvenient  emo- 
tion which  was  now  driving  him  hard. 

"Don't  overlook  your  own  side  of  the  case,"  he  was 
constrained  to  say. 

"Oh,  yes,  there's  that — but  one  doesn't  like  to  insist 
on  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"The  other  is  so  much  more  important." 

She  felt  his  deep  eyes  searching  hers,  but  except  a 
little  veiled  amusement,  they  had  nothing  to  conceal. 

"I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  it  is."  To  his  own 
clear  annoyance,  the  fatal  instinct  for  justice  began  to 
take  a  hand  in  his  overthrow.  "As  the  matter  has  been 
represented  to  me  there  is  no  doubt,  if  you  took  it  to  a 
court  of  law,  that  you  would  get  substantial  damages." 

"As  if  one  could !"     She  suddenly  crimsoned. 

"If  I  have  hurt  you  in  any  way,  I  beg  your  pardon," 
he  said  at  once  with  a  simple  humility  for  which  she 
honored  him.  "After  all,  if  you  decide  not  to  marry 
my  relation  you  give  up  a  position  which  most  people 
allow  to  be  exceptional." 

197 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"Yes — but  if  one  has  never  aspired  to  it!" 

He  grew  more  puzzled. 

"Can  you  afford  to  be  so  fastidious? — if  you  don't 
think  the  question  impertinent?" 

"I  have  my  living  to  earn,"  she  said  very  simply,  "but 
of  course  I  don't  want  that  to  enter  into  the  case." 

"Naturally.  Of  course.  Let  me  put  another  question 
— if  it  is  not  impertinent?"  The  eyes  of  the  Duke  had 
now  a  grave  amusement,  but  they  had  also  something  else. 
"I  suppose  you  care  a  good  deal  for  this  young  man?" 

She  simply  stared  at  him  in  a  kind  of  bewilderment. 

Such  an  answer,  unexpectedly  swift,  nobly  complete, 
seemed  to  disconcert  him  a  little. 

"And — and  without  a  word  you  give  him  up  for  the 
sake  of  other  people?" 

"Yes— if  they  insist  upon  it." 

"If  they  insist  upon  it!"  He  shook  his  head  at  her 
in  rather  uneasy  surprise. 

"I  have  told  Jack  that  I  cannot  marry  him  unless  he 
has  your  full  consent." 

Again  the  wide  gray  eyes  looked  out  fearlessly  upon 
the  rather  bewildered  gentleman.  They  could  hardly 
refrain  from  a  smile  at  his  growing  perplexity.  But  there 
was  something  other  than  perplexity  in  his  tone  when 
at  last  he  said,  "You  know  of  course  that  I  cannot 
possibly  give  it." 

"Of  course  not." 

The  unhesitating  reply  seemed  to  increase  his  sur- 
prise. This  girl  was  taking  him  into  deeper  places  than 
he  had  ever  been  in  before.  He  shook  his  head  at  her 
in  a  whimsical  fashion  which  she  thought  quite  charm- 
ing. "It  hardly  does,  you  know,  to  be  too  bright  and 

198 


"You  give  up  your  young  man — simply  because  of  that?" 


A  BUSY  MORNING 


good  for  human  nature's  daily  food,"  he  said  with  a 
softness  in  his  deep  voice,  which  was  enchanting. 

"Oh,  I'm  very  far  from  being  that."  She  smiled 
and  shook  her  head.  "I  won't  own  that  I'm  as  bad  as 
all  that — at  least  I  hope  I'm  not." 

"But  if  you  insist  on  being  so  uncommonly  self-sacri- 
ficing, you're  in  danger,  aren't  you  ?" 

"One  can't  call  it  self-sacrifice  altogether." 

"Afraid  of  being  bored,  eh  ?" 

"I  could  never  be  bored  with  Jack,"  she  said  gravely. 
"But  I  don't  see  why  one  should  pat  oneself  on  the  back 
for  trying  to  live  up  to  one's  principles." 

"Principles!  May  I  ask  what  principles  are  involved 
in  a  case  of  this  kind?" 

"  'Do  unto  others  as  you  would  be  done  by.'  It's 
rather  priggish,  I  admit,  but  it's  a  splendid  motto,  if  only 
one  is  equal  to  it.  As  a  rule  it  is  much  too  much  for 
me,  but  in  this  case  I  want  to  do  my  best  to  live  up 
to  it." 

"There  you  go  again."  The  old  man  shook  an  amused 
finger  at  her.  "Why  it's  altruism,  there's  no  other  word 
for  it." 

"It's  common  sense — if  one  is  able  to  think  through 
to  it." 

"And  that  is  why,"  he  said,  with  almost  the  air  of  a 
father,  "you  give  up  your  young  man — simply  because 
of  that?" 

She  nodded.     But  her  smile  was  rather  drawn. 

"Tell  me,  Miss  Lawrence" — the  curiosity  of  his  Grace 
was  mounting  to  a  pitch  that  enabled  him  to  match  her 
frankness  with  his  own — "why  are  you  so  sure  that 
you  will  be  unacceptable  here?" 

199 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"It  stands  to  reason,  I'm  afraid.  If  I  lived  at  Brid- 
port  House  and  the  future  head  of  the  Family  married 
the  housekeeper's  niece,  I  should  be  bound  to  look  on  it  as 
a  perfectly  hopeless  arrangement." 

He  honored  this  candor.  Choosing  his  words  with 
great  delicacy,  he  could  but  pay  homage  to  such  clear- 
sighted honesty.  "I  only  hope  you  will  not  blame  us  too 
much,"  he  said  finally,  with  an  odd  change  of  voice. 

"I  don't  blame  you  at  all.  You  are  as  you  are.  If  I 
lived  here  I  am  sure  those  would  be  my  feelings." 

The  old  man  was  touched  by  this  generosity.  Lest  he 
should  overrate  it,  however,  she  added  quickly  with  a 
flash  of  pride,  "Besides,  I  should  simply  hate  to  go  where 
I  was  not  wanted." 

Patrician  to  the  bone,  he  admired  that,  too.  Every 
inch  of  her  rang  true.  Somehow  it  had  become  terribly 
difficult  to  treat  her  in  the  only  way  the  circumstances 
permitted.  But  no  matter  what  his  private  feelings,  he 
must  hold  them  in  check. 

"Well,  I  think,  Miss  Lawrence,"  he  said,  with  a  return 
to  the  dryness  of  the  man  of  the  world,  "you  ought 
to  congratulate  yourself  that  you  don't  live  here."  But 
suddenly  his  voice  trailed  off.  "You  would  not  be  half  so 
fine  as  you  are" — after  all,  he  couldn't  conceal  that  a 
deeply-stirred  old  man  was  speaking — "had  you  been 
born  and  bred  in  a  hot-house." 

She  flushed  at  the  unexpected  words.  Quite  suddenly 
her  eyes  brimmed  with  tears. 

"If  I  have  said  anything  that  wounds  I  humbly  apolo- 
gize," he  said,  with  a  gentleness  that  to  her  was  adorable. 

"Oh,  nol  It  is  only  that  I  had  not  expected  to  have 
such  a  compliment  paid  me." 

2OO 


A  BUSY  MORNING 


"Well,  it's  a  sincere  one."  As  he  looked  at  her  strange 
thoughts  came  into  his  mind;  his  voice  began  to  shake 
in  a  queer  way.  "And  it  is  paid  you  by  an  old  man 
who  is  not  very  wise  and  not  very  happy."  As  he 
continued  to  look  at  her  his  voice  underwent  further 
surprising  changes.  "I  wish  we  could  have  had  you 
with  us.  There  is  not  one  of  us  here  fit  to  tie  your  shoe- 
lace, my  dear." 

Such  a  speech  gave  pain  rather  than  pleasure. 
She  saw  him  a  feudal  chieftain,  the  head  of  a  sacred 
order.  Was  it  quite  fit  and  proper  that  he  should  speak 
in  that  way  to  the  humblest  of  his  vassals?  She  would 
never  be  able  to  forget  his  words,  but  in  that  room, 
with  the  spirit  of  place  enfolding  her  like  some  exquisite 
garment,  she  could  almost  have  wished  that  they  had  not 
been  uttered. 

Suddenly  she  rose  to  go.  As  he  regarded  her  in  all 
the  salient  perfection  of  mind  and  mansion,  it  seemed  too 
bitterly  ironical  that  he  should  bar  the  door  against  her. 
Why  were  they  not  on  their  knees  thanking  heaven  for 
such  a  creature! 

"You  must  forgive  us,  even  if  Fate  is  not  likely  to," 
he  said,  thinking  aloud. 

"Please  don't  let  us  look  at  it  in  that  way,"  was  the 
quick  rejoinder.  "We  all  have  our  places  in  the  world. 
And,  after  all,  one  ought  to  remember  that  it  is  very 
much  easier  to  be  Mary  Lawrence  than  to  be  Duchess 
of  Bridport." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head  dolefully,  and  then,  in 
spite  of  her  earnest  prayer  that  he  should  stay  as  he 
was,  he  rose  with  a  great  effort  to  say  good-by.  The 

201 


THE  TIME"  SPIRIT 


deeply-lined  face  was  a  complex,  of  many  emotions  as 
he  did  so. 

In  the  very  act  of  taking  leave,  her  eyes,  magnetized 
by  the  room  itself,  strayed  round  it  almost  wistfully. 
Somehow  it  meant  so  much  that  they  hardly  knew  how 
to  tear  themselves  away.  Involuntarily  the  Duke's  eyes 
followed  hers  to  a  masterpiece  among  masterpieces  on 
the  farther  wall.  He  could  trace  all  that  was  in  her 
mind,  and  the  knowledge  seemed  to  increase  his  pain 
and  his  perplexity. 

"There's  something  wonderful  in  this  room,"  she  said, 
half  to  herself.  "Something  one  can't  put  into  words. 
It's  like  nothing  else.  I  suppose  it's  a  kind  of  harmony." 

The  Duke  didn't  speak,  but  slowly  brought  back  his 
eyes  to  look  at  her.  His  favorite  room  held  treasures 
of  many  kinds,  yet  as  he  well  knew  he  was  wantonly 
casting  away  a  gem  rarer  than  any  in  his  collection. 
His  eyes  were  upon  a  noble  profile  instinct  with  the 
dignity  of  an  old  race.  Here  was  artistry  surer,  even 
more  exquisite  than  Corot's.  He  could  not  repress  a  sigh 
of  vexation. 

Unwilling  to  part  with  her,  he  still  detained  her  even 
when  she  had  turned  to  go.  "One  moment,  Miss  Law- 
rence," he  said.  "Do  these  things  speak  to  you?"  Near 
his  elbow  was  a  wonderful  cabinet  of  Chinese  lacquer 
which  housed  a  collection  of  old  French  snuffboxes.  He 
opened  it  for  her  inspection,  and  with  a  little  air  of  con- 
noisseurship  she  gazed  at  the  rarities  within. 

"They  are  lovely,"  she  said  eagerly. 

"Honor  me  by  choosing  one  as  a  token  of  my  grati- 
tude." 

She  hesitated  to  take  him  at  his  word,  but  he  was 
202 


A  BUSY  MORNING 


so  much  in  earnest  that  it  would  have  seemed  unkind  to 
refuse. 

"May  I  choose  any  one  of  them?" 

"Please.  And  I  hope  you  will  do  me  the  honor  of 
choosing  the  best." 

Put  on  her  mettle  she  brought  instinct  rather  than 
knowledge  to  bear  on  a  fine  collection,  and  chose  a 
charming  Louis  Quinze. 

"You  have  a  flair,"  said  the  Duke,  laughing.  "That 
is  the  one.  I  am  so  glad  you  found  it.  I  should  not 
like  you  to  have  less  than  the  best.  Good-by!"  Again 
he  took  her  hand  and  his  voice  had  a  father's  affection 
in  it.  Then  he  pressed  the  bell,  opened  the  door,  and 
ushered  her  into  the  care  of  a  servant  with  an  'air  of 
solicitude  which  she  felt  to  be  quite  extraordinary.  As 
he  did  so  he  apologized  with  a  humility  that  seemed 
almost  excessive  for  his  inability  to  accompany  her  down- 
stairs. 

IV 

As  soon  as  the  girl  had  gone,  the  Duke  returned 
painfully  to  his  chair.  He  was  now  the  prey  of  very 
odd  sensations,  and  they  began  to  crystallize  at  once  into 
emotion  as  deep  as  any  he  had  ever  felt.  Something 
had  happened  at  this  interview  which  left  him  now 
with  a  feeling  of  numb  surprise.  The  entrance  of  this 
girl  into  that  room  had  brought  something  into  his  life, 
her  going  away  had  taken  something  out  of  it.  Almost 
in  the  act  of  meeting  a  subtle  bond  had  seemed  to  arise 
between  them.  It  was  as  if  each  had  a  sixth  sense 
in  regard  to  the  other.  Their  minds  had  marched  so 
perfectly  together  that  it  was  hard  to  realize  that 

203 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


this  was  the  first  time  they  had  met.  This  rare  creature 
had  touched  cords  which  had  long  been  forgotten, 
even  had  they  been  known  to  exist,  in  the  slightly  de- 
humanized thing  he  called  himself. 

Shaken  as  he  had  never  been  in  his  life,  his  mind  was 
held  by  the  thought  of  her  long  after  she  had  gone. 
Mystified,  disconcerted,  rather  forlorn,  a  harrowing  idea 
was  beginning  to  torment  him.  At  last  he  could  bear 
it  no  longer.  Rising  from  his  chair  with  a  stifled  impa- 
tience, he  made  his  way  out  of  the  room  leaning  heavily 
upon  his  stick.  He  went  along  the  corridor  as  far  as  the 
head  of  the  central  staircase.  Here  he  stood  a  long 
while  in  contemplation  of  a  large,  rather  florid  picture 
by  Lawrence.  The  subject  was  a  young  woman  of  dis- 
tinguished beauty,  a  portrait  of  his  famous  grandmother, 
the  wife  of  Bridport's  second  duke.  Apart  from  her 
appearance,  which  had  been  greatly  celebrated,  she  had 
had  a  reputation  for  wit  and  charm ;  her  memoirs  of  the 
'Thirties  had  long  taken  rank  as  a  classic ;  and  no  annals 
of  the  time  were  complete  without  the  mention  of  her 
name. 

The  prey  of  some  very  unhappy  thoughts,  the  Duke 
stood  long  immersed  in  the  picture  before  him.  The 
resemblance  he  sought  to  trace  had  grown  so  plain  that 
it  provoked  a  shiver.  The  line  of  the  cheek,  the  shape  of 
the  eyes,  the  curve  of  the  chin,  the  poise  of  the  head  on 
the  long  and  slender  throat  were  identical  with  the  living 
replica  he  had  just  seen. 

At  last  he  returned  to  his  room  and  rang  the  bell.  To 
the  servant  who  answered  it,  he  said:  "Ask  Mrs.  San- 
derson to  come  to  me." 

The  summons  was  promptly  obeyed.  But  as  Har- 
204 


A  BUSY  MORNING 


net  came  into  the  room  she  bore  a  small  tray  containing 
a  wine-glass,  a  teaspoon,  and  a  bottle  of  medicine.  At 
the  sight  of  these  the  Duke  made  a  grimace  like  a 
petulant  child. 

"I  am  sure  the  new  medicine  does  you  a  great  deal  of 
good."  The  tone  was  quite  maternal  in  its  tenderness. 

"You  think  so?"  The  words  were  dubious;  all  the 
same  her  voice  and  look  seemed  to  have  an  odd  power 
of  reassurance. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  think  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  it."  She 
measured  the  dose  gravely. 

"Well,  I  take  your  word,  I  take  your  word."  And 
he  drank  the  bitter  draught. 

She  put  back  the  glass  on  the  tray,  but  as  she  was 
about  to  leave  the  room  she  was  abruptly  detained. 
"Don't  go,"  he  said.  "Sit  and  let  us  talk  a  little." 

She  sat  down. 

"Did  you  know,"  he  said,  and  the  unexpectedness  of 
the  words  threw  her  off  her  guard,  "that  I  have  just 
had  a  visit  from — from  your  niece  ?" 

"Mary!"  She  clutched  her  dress.  "Mary— here!" 
A  sudden  tide  of  crimson  flowed  in  the  startled  face. 
But  the  next  instant  it  had  grown  white.  "No,  I  didn't 
know,"  she  said.  And  then,  her  soul  in  her  eyes,  she 
waited  for  his  next  words. 

There  was  one  stifling  moment  of  silence,  then  he 
said:  "Of  course  you  know  what  is  in  my  mind?" 

She  nodded,  not  trusting  herself  to  speak. 

While  he  searched  his  memory  silence  came  again,  and 
now  it  had  the  power  to  hurt  them  both.  "Haven't  you 
always  led  me  to  believe,"  he  said  in  a  voice  of  curious 
intensity,  "that  she  was  a  nurse  in  a  hospital?" 

205 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


Harriet  did  not  reply  at  once.  But  at  last  she  said, 
"Yes,  I  have  always  wanted  you  to  think  so." 

He  looked  at  her  white  face,  and  suddenly  checked 
the  words  that  rose  to  his  tongue.  Whatever  those  may 
have  been,  there  was  an  immense  solicitude  in  his  man- 
ner when  he  spoke  again.  "It  is  not  for  me,"  he  said, 
"to  question  anything  you  may  have  said,  or  anything 
you  may  have  done." 

"I  did  everything  I  could  to  carry  out  your  wishes." 
Her  voice  trembled  painfully.  "And  I — I " 

"And  you  didn't  like  to  tell  me,"  he  said  gently. 

"Yes.  I  couldn't  bear  to  tell  you  that  she  had  in- 
sisted on  choosing  the  life  of  all  others  you  would  have 
the  least  desired  for  her." 

"Don't  think  that  I  complain,"  he  said.  "I  know 
you  must  have  had  a  good  reason.  You  have  always 
been  very  considerate.  But  it  looks  as  if  the  stars  in 
their  courses  have  managed  to  play  a  scurvy  trick." 

"That  they  have !"  Once  more  the  swift  color  flowed 
over  a  fine  face. 

Suddenly  she  pressed  her  fingers  to  her  eyelids  to 
repress  the  quick  tears. 

"Never  mind,"  he  said.  "The  gods  have  been  a  little 
too  much  for  us,  but  things  might  have  been  worse." 

Tearfully  she  agreed. 

"The  other  day  when  I  talked  with  that  excellent  fel- 
low, your  brother-in-law,  it  didn't  occur  to  me  who  this 
girl  really  was.  I  don't  think  I  was  ever  told  that  she 
had  been  adopted  by  your  family." 

"No,"  said  Harriet,  very  simply. 

"Do  your  friends  know  the  truth  of  the  matter?" 

206 


A  BUSY  MORNING 


"I  don't  think  they  have  a  suspicion — not  of  the  real 
truth,"  she  said  slowly. 

"Has  anyone?" 

"Not  a  soul  that  I  know  of." 

"The  girl  herself,  is  she  also  in  ignorance?" 

"She  knows,  I  believe,  that  she  is  only  the  adopted 
child  of  my  sister  and  her  husband,  but  I  don't  think 
she  has  gone  at  all  deeply  into  the  matter." 

"Tell  me  this" — the  mere  effort  of  speech  seemed  to 
cost  him  infinite  pain — "do  you  think  there  is  a  means 
open  to  anyone  of  learning  the  truth  at  this  time  of  day  ?" 

"My  brother-in-law  knew  from  the  first  that  the  child 
was  mine,  but  I  feel  sure  the  real  truth  can  never  come 
out  now." 

Impassive  as  he  was,  a  shade  of  evident  relief  came 
into  his  face.  But  the  look  of  strain  in  his  eyes  deep- 
ened to  actual  pain  as  he  said,  "No  doubt  we  ought  to 
be  glad  that  it  is  so.  At  the  same  time,  I  think  you'll 
agree,  that  we  have  a  duty  to  face  which  may  prove  ex- 
traordinarily difficult." 

Harriet  did  not  speak,  but  suddenly  she  bent  her  head 
in  a  quivering  assent. 

"You  see,"  he  said  slowly,  "we  can  no  longer  burke 
the  fact  that  something  is  due  to  the  girl  herself." 

Harriet's  eyes  suddenly  filled  with  an  intensity  of  suf- 
fering he  could  not  bear  to  look  at. 

"You  know  the  position,  of  course?"  he  said  gently, 
after  a  pause. 

"I  know  she  has  promised  to  marry  Mr.  Dinneford." 

"But  only  if  I  give  my  consent." 

"I  am  sure  that  is  right."  A  note  of  relief  came  into 
207 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


her  tone.     "She  has  done  exactly  as  one  could  have 
wished." 

"If  one  could  only  see  the  thing  as  clearly  as  you  do !" 
he  said  with  a  reluctant  shake  of  the  head.  "At  any  rate 
let  us  try  to  be  as  just  as  the  circumstances  will  allow 
us  to  be." 

"Can  we  hope  to  do  justice  and  not  hurt  other  people  ?" 

"I'm  afraid  that's  impossible,  as  things  are.  But  for 
a  moment  let  us  try  to  consider  the  whole  matter  from 
her  point  of  view.  Perhaps  you'll  allow  me  to  say  at 
once  thai  the  course  you  insisted  on  taking  seems  to  have 
justified  itself  completely.  She  is  a  girl  to  be  proud  of  j 
and  she  appears  to  be  living  a  happy  and  useful  life. 
One  sees  now  how  wise  it  was  not  to  take  half-measures. 
She  has  been  allowed  to  fight  her  own  battle  with  the 
gifts  of  the  good  God,  and  the  result  does  your  fore- 
sight the  highest  credit." 

The  judicial  words,  very  simply  uttered,  brought  a 
flood  of  color  to  the  pale  cheeks.  But  listening  with 
bent  head,  she  did  not  look  up,  nor  did  she  say  a  word 
in  reply. 

"The  heroic  method  has  proved  to  be  the  right  one, 
but  I  think  now  we  have  to  be  careful  not  to  take  any  un- 
fair advantage  of  that  fact.  It's  a  terribly  difficult  case, 
but  as  far  as  we  can  we  ought  not  to  overlook  what  is 
due  to  the  girl  herself." 

"But  the  others!"  said  Harriet  with  fear  in  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  a  terribly  difficult  situation."  The  Duke  signed. 
"But  for  the  moment  let  us  try  to  see  the  matter  simply 
as  it  affects  her.  She  has  been  made  to  suffer  a  grievous 
injustice  so  that  others  might  benefit.  The  question  is, 
must  she  still  be  made  to  sacrifice  herself?" 

208 


A  BUSY  MORNING 


Harriet  had  no  answer  to  give.  The  long  silence  which 
followed  was  almost  unendurable  in  its  intensity. 

"Well?"  he  said  at  last,  as  he  looked  at  her  white  face. 

She  shook  her  head  mutely,  unable  to  speak,  unable 
to  meet  his  eyes.  Tears  crept  again  along  her  eyelids. 

"You  wish  me  to  decide?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  at  last. 

He  looked  at  her  now  with  the  light  of  pity  in  his 
face.  Not  at  once  did  he  speak,  and  when  he  did  it  was 
with  a  clear,  a  too-clear  perception  of  the  impotence  of 
his  words. 

"The  truth  is,"  he  said,  "the  problem  is  beyond  me." 


CHAPTER  IX 
AN  INTERLUDE 


AS  Mary  made  her  way  from  Bridport  House 
across  the  Park,  in  the  direction  of  Broad  Place 
and  luncheon,  it  came  suddenly  upon  her  that  she 
was  in  a  state  of  the  most  abject  misery  she  had  ever 
been  in.  It  was  a  gorgeous  midday  of  July,  but  the  world 
had  ceased  to  be  habitable.  She  had  come  up  against 
a  blank  wall.  At  that  moment  there  was  nothing  in  life 
to  make  it  worth  while. 

In  the  ordeal  she  had  just  passed  through  a  fierce 
pride  had  forbade  her  to  show  one  glimpse  of  her  real 
feelings.  She  had  carried  off  the  whole  scene  with  al- 
most an  air  of  comedy,  for  she  was  determined  that 
"those  people"  should  not  realize  what  wounds  it  was 
in  their  power  to  deal.  But  Dame  Nature,  now  that 
she  had  the  high-mettled  creature  to  herself,  was  having 
something  to  say  to  her  on  the  matter.  A  price  was 
being  exacted  for  these  heroics  and  for  this  stoicism. 

The  Duke  had  left  an  impression  of  fine  chivalry 
on  a  perceptive  mind,  but  in  spite  of  that,  now  they 
were  no  longer  face  to  face,  her  deepest  feeling  was  an 
angry  resentment.  Life  was  not  playing  fair.  In  the 
course  of  a  strenuous  three  and  twenty  years  she  had 

210 


AN  INTERLUDE 


rubbed  shoulders  with  all  sorts  of  men  and  women,  but 
in  spite  of  an  honest  catholicity  of  outlook,  she  had  come 
to  the  conclusion  already  that  there  was  only  one  kind 
for  which  she  had  any  real  use.  It  was  not  a  question  of 
loaves  and  fishes,  or  a  puerile  snobbishness ;  it  was  simply 
that  one  of  the  deepest  instincts  she  had,  the  sense  of  the 
artist,  demanded  a  setting. 

Walking  along,  blind  to  everything  but  the  misery  of 
this  reaction,  she  was  suddenly  brought  up  short,  thrown 
as  it  were  against  the  world  in  its  concrete  reality,  by  the 
knowledge  that  a  pair  of  eyes  was  devouring  her.  Cut- 
ting across  her  path  at  an  acute  angle  as  he  converged 
upon  her  from  the  direction  of  Kensington  Gardens  was 
a  man  wholly  absorbed  in  the  occupation  of  looking  at 
her.  With  a  start  she  awoke  to  the  force  of  his  gaze; 
her  subconscious  perception  of  it  was  so  strong  that  it 
even  aroused  a  tacit  hostility. 

Who  was  this  large,  lean,  top-hatted  creature  striding 
towards  her  in  a  pair  of  aggressively  checked  trousers? 
Where  had  she  seen  that  freckled  face,  those  bold  eyes, 
those  prognathous  jaws  ?  As  he  came  on  he  caught  her 
gaze  and  fixed  it;  but  she  dropped  her  eyes  at  once, 
adroitly  giving  him  only  the  line  of  her  cheek  to  look 
at.  Whoever  he  was,  he  was  not  a  gentleman! 

In  the  next  moment,  however,  she  had  begun  to  realize 
that  he  was  outside  and  beyond  any  trite  symbol  of 
that  kind.  He  was  less  a  man  than  a  natural  force; 
moreover,  as  soon  as  he  had  passed  her,  he  stopped 
abruptly  and  turned  round  to  follow  her  with  his  eyes. 
She  did  not  need  to  turn  round  herself  to  verify  her 
sense  of  the  act,  even  had  personal  dignity  not  intervened 
to  prevent  her. 

211 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


She  felt  annoyed.  Again  she  asked  herself  who  he 
could  be.  When  and  where  had  she  seen  him  ?  And  then 
a  light  broke.  It  may  have  been  the  checked  trousers,  it 
may  have  been  the  prognathous  jaws,  but  her  mind  was 
suddenly  flung  back  upon  that  recent  visit  to  Beacons- 
field  Villas,  and  a  certain  unforgettable  scene.  This 
slightly  fantastic  figure  was  no  less  a  person  than 
Lady  Muriel's  fiance,  the  new  Home  Secretary. 

II 

Crossing  to  Broad  Place  she  could  not  check  a  laugh. 
Wounded,  angry,  humiliated  by  the  pressure  of  a  recent 
event,  there  still  lurked  in  her  a  true  appreciation  of  the 
human  comedy.  What  a  pill  for  Bridport  House  to 
have  to  swallow!  It  was  poetic  justice  that  the  pride 
which  strained  at  a  gnat  so  harmless  as  herself  should 
have  to  gulp  a  real  live  camel  in  the  person  of  the 
Right  Honorable  Gentleman. 

But  the  laugh,  after  all,  was  hollow.  Tears  of  vexa- 
tion leaped  to  her  eyes.  And  they  owed  more  to  the 
perception  of  her  own  inadequacy  in  this  smarting  hour 
than  to  the  act  of  Fate.  "Wretch  that  I  am!"  She  was 
ready  to  chasten  herself  with  scorpions  as  she  crossed 
the  familiar  path  into  Albert  Gate. 

Within  a  very  few  yards  were  the  loyal,  warm-hearted 
friends  of  her  own  orbit.  And  there,  alas !  was  the  rub. 
Her  own  orbit  could  not  satisfy  her  now.  She  craved 
something  that  all  their  kindness,  their  cheerfulness,  their 
frank  affection  could  not  give.  "Just  common  or  garden 
snobbishness,  my  dear,  that's  the  nature  of  your  com- 
plaint," whispered  a  monitor  within.  "You  are  no  better 

212 


AN  INTERLUDE 


than  anyone  else  when  you  are  invited  to  call  on  a  duke 
in  Mount  Street." 

That  might  be  true,  or  it  might  not,  but  sore  and  re- 
bellious as  she  was,  she  was  strongly  inclined  to  dispute 
the  verdict.  After  all,  her  feeling  went  infinitely  deeper. 
It  was  futile,  however,  to  analyze  it  now.  This  was  not 
the  place  nor  was  there  present  opportunity.  She  glanced 
at  the  watch  on  her  wrist.  It  was  one  o'clock. 

The  watch  on  her  wrist  was  as  hostile  as  everything 
else  in  her  little  world  just  now.  Even  one  o'clock  had 
a  sharp  sting  of  its  own.  "Don't  be  late  for  lunch," 
had  been  Milly's  parting  words.  "Charley  Cheesewright 
is  coming.  And  he's  dying  to  meet  you." 

She  managed  to  navigate  the  vortex  of  Knightsbridge 
without  knowing  that  she  did  so;  and  then,  all  at  once, 
she  realized  that  she  was  within  twenty  yards  of  Victoria 
Mansions,  and  that  a  rather  overdressed  young  man  was 
a  few  yards  ahead. 

With  a  feeling  akin  to  nausea  she  pulled  up  in  time 
to  watch  this  short,  squat  figure  disappear  within  the 
precincts  of  Number  Five.  For  a  reason  she  couldn't  ex- 
plain she  was  quite  sure  that  this  was  none  other  than 
Mr.  Charles  Cheesewright.  She  didn't  know  him ;  if  a 
back  view  meant  anything  she  had  no  wish  to  know 
him ;  certainly  she  had  no  desire  to  make  his  acquaintance 
going  up  in  the  lift. 

She  hung  back  a  discreet  three  minutes  on  the  pave- 
ment of  Broad  Place  before  daring  to  enter  the  vestibule 
of  Number  Five,  Victoria  Mansions.  By  then  the  coast 
was  clear;  Mr.  Charles  Cheesewright,  apparently,  had 
gone  up  in  the  Otis  elevator.  And  she  stood  on  the 

213 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


mat,  drawn  and  tense,  a  figure  of  tragedy,  waiting  for 
the  Otis  elevator  to  come  down  again. 

Ill 

At  last  the  Otis  elevator  came  down  and  she  went 
up  in  it.  And  then  confronted  by  the  door  of  the  flat, 
she  peered  through  the  glass  panel  to  make  sure  that 
Mr.  Charles  Cheesewright  was  not  standing  the  other 
side  of  it ;  then  she  opened  it  with  a  furtive  key,  slipped 
in,  and  stole  past  the  half-open  door  of  the  tiny  drawing- 
room  through  which  came  the  penetrating  accents  of  Mrs. 
Wren  attuned  to  the  reception  of  "company." 

Once  in  her  own  room  her  first  act  was  to  look  in 
the  glass  with  a  lurking  sense  of  horror ;  the  second  was 
to  decide,  which  she  instantly  did,  that  it  would  be  quite 
impossible  to  meet  Mr.  Cheesewright,  and  that  she  didn't 
need  any  luncheon. 

By  the  time  she  had  taken  off  her  hat  and  made  herself 
a  little  more  presentable,  both  these  decisions  had  grown 
immutable.  She  could  not  meet  Mr.  Cheesewright,  she 
did  not  want  any  luncheon.  All  she  needed  was  complete 
solitude,  and  perhaps  a  cigarette.  But  all  too  soon  was 
she  ravished  of  even  these  modest  requirements.  Milly 
burst  suddenly  into  the  room. 

"Twenty  past  one!"  she  cried  reproachfully.  "I  didn't 
hear  you  come  in.  We  are  waiting  for  you." 

Mary  saw  that  her  plan  must  be  given  up.  If  she 
really  meant  to  forgo  a  meal  and  the  honor  of  Mr. 
Cheesewright's  acquaintance  there  would  have  to  be  a 
satisfactory  explanation.  But  what  explanation  could 
she  make?  Certainly  none  that  would  conceal  the  truth. 

214 


AN  INTERLUDE 


And  at  that  moment  she  wished  almost  savagely  for  it  to 
be  concealed.  Confronted  by  a  choice  of  evils  she  made  a 
dash  at  the  less. 

"I'm  so  sorry.    I'll  be  with  you  in  one  minute." 

Sheer  pride  forced  her  tone  to  a  superhuman  light- 
ness, verging  on  gayety.  But  there  was  a  formidable 
member  of  her  sex  to  deal  with.  In  spite  of  that  heroic 
note,  Milly  was  not  to  be  taken  in;  she  looked  at  the 
dissembler  with  eyes  that  saw  a  great  deal  too  much. 
"I  expect  you've  taken  a  pretty  bad  toss,  my  fine  lady," 
they  seemed  to  say. 

"I'll  be  with  you  in  one  minute,"  repeated  Mary,  with 
burning  cheeks  and  a  beating  heart.  But  Milly  continued 
to  stare.  Suddenly  she  laid  impulsive  hands  on  her 
shoulders  and  gave  her  a  kiss. 

Mary  didn't  like  kissing.  Her  friend's  proneness  to 
the  habit  always  irritated  her  secretly;  this  present  in- 
dulgence in  it  brought  Mary  as  near  to  active  dislike  as 
it  would  have  been  possible  for  her  to  get. 

Milly  went  back  to  the  drawing-room  seething  with  an 
excited  curiosity.  Before  she  could  make  up  her  mind 
to  follow  Mary  stood  a  long  moment  in  black  despair; 
and  then  "biting  on  the  bullet,"  as  the  soldiers  say,  she 
went  to  join  the  others. 

"Naughty  girl !"  was  the  arch  reception  of  Mrs.  Wren. 
"I'm  very  cross.  Didn't  you  promise  not  to  be  late? 
But  if  you  must  call  before  lunch  on  dukes  in  Park  Lane 
I  suppose  people  like  us  will  have  to  take  the  conse- 
quences." 

Mary  would  gladly  have  given  a  year's  salary  for  the 
head  of  Mrs.  Wren  on  a  charger,  but  Milly  intervened 

215 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


neatly  with  the  presentation  of  Mr.  Cheesewright,  in  itself 
a  little  masterpiece  of  quiet  humor. 

Princess  Bedalia's  reception  of  Mr.  Charles  Cheese- 
wright was  perhaps  the  severest  test  to  which  her 
sterling  goodness  had  been  exposed.  Every  nerve  was  on 
edge.  She  wanted  to  slay  Mr.  Cheesewright,  braided 
coat,  turquoise  tie-pin,  diamond  sleeve  links,  immaculate 
coiffure  and  all.  But  for  the  sake  of  Milly  she  dra- 
gooned her  feelings  to  the  pitch  of  bowing  quite  charm- 
ingly. 

Luncheon,  after  all,  was  not  so  bad.  Mrs.  Wren  was 
frankly  at  her  worst  and  most  tactless;  her  one  idea 
was  to  impress  the  guest,  to  let  him  see  that  money  was 
not  everything,  and  that  judged  by  her  standards  he  was 
a  most  ordinary  young  man.  For  such  a  democrat  her 
table  talk  was  surprisingly  full  of  Debrett.  It  was  all 
very  lacerating,  but  Mary  continued  to  play  up  as  well 
as  she  knew  how.  And  by  the  time  the  meal  was  half 
over  the  reward  of  pure  unselfishness  came  to  her  in 
the  shape  of  a  quite  unexpected  liking  for  Mr.  Charles 
Cheesewright. 

By  all  the  rules  of  the  game,  that  is,  if  mere  outward 
appearance  went  for  anything,  Mr.  Cheesewright  should 
have  been  insufferable.  But  at  close  quarters,  with 
curried  prawns  and  chablis  before  him,  and  a  very  fine 
girl  opposite,  he  was  nothing  of  the  kind.  Mrs.  Wren 
had  confided  to  Mary  a  week  ago,  "that  she  was  afraid 
from  what  she  had  heard,  that  he  was  not  out  of  the  top 
drawer."  The  statement  had  been  provoked  by  an  odi- 
ous comparison  with  Wrexham,  "who,"  declared  Milly 
in  her  most  aboriginal  manner,  "had,  as  far  as  mother 
was  concerned,  simply  queered  the  pitch  for  everybody." 

216 


AN  INTERLUDE 


Perhaps  in  the  eyes  of  Mary  it  was  Mr.  Cheesewright's 
supreme  merit  that,  in  spite  of  his  clothes,  he  was  mod- 
estly content  to  be  his  humble  self.  In  every  way  he 
was  a  very  middling  young  man.  But  he  knew  that  he 
was  and,  in  Mary's  opinion,  that  somehow  saved  him 
from  being  something  worse.  Mrs.  Wren  was  far  from 
agreeing.  His  face  and  form  were  plebeian,  but  there 
was  no  reason  why  he  should  take  them  lying  down.  He 
was  Eton  and  Cambridge  certainly — or  was  it  Harrow 
and  Oxford? — anyhow  an  adequate  expression  of  a 
sound  convention;  and  it  was  for  that  reason  no  doubt 
that  all  through  a  particularly  trying  meal  he  kept  up 
his  end  bravely.  In  fact,  he  did  so  well  that  he  earned 
the  gratitude  of  the  young  woman  opposite,  although  he 
was  far  from  suspecting  that  he  had  done  anything  of 
the  kind. 

She  had  begun  by  counting  the  minutes  and  in  looking 
ahead  to  the  time  when  she  could  retire  with  her  wounds. 
But  there  was  a  peculiar  virtue  in  the  meal ;  at  any  rate 
it  agreed  so  well  with  the  natural  constitution  of  Mr. 
Charles  Cheesewright  that  he  was  able  to  relieve  the 
tension  of  the  little  dining-room  without  knowing  it. 
He  wasn't  brilliant,  certainly,  but  he  talked  plainly, 
sanely,  modestly  about  the  things  that  mattered;  the 
Brodotsky  Venus  at  the  Portman  Gallery,  the  miserable 
performance  of  Harrow,  the  new  play  at  the  Imperial, 
the  sure  defeat  of  America's  Big  Four,  Mr.  Jarvey's  new 
novel,  the  prospect  of  the  Kaiser  lifting  the  pot  at 
Cowes,  and  other  matters  of  international  importance,  so 
that  by  the  time  coffee  and  creme-de-menthe  had  rounded 
up  the  meal,  Mary  was  inclined  to  feel  sorry  that  it  was 
at  an  end. 

217 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


When  a  few  minutes  before  three  Mr.  Cheesewright 
went  his  way — to  have  a  net  at  Lord's  Cricket  Ground 
— the  famous  Princess  Bedalia  felt  a  pang  of  regret. 
He  had  played  a  pretty  good  innings  already,  even  if  he 
didn't  seem  to  know  it.  And  the  honest  shake  of  her 
hand  did  its  best  to  tell  him  so. 

IV 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Cheesewright  had  gone,  Mary  pre- 
pared to  go  too.  But  before  she  could  retire  Milly  and 
her  mother  were  at  her.  Both  had  a  pretty  shrewd 
suspicion  that  she  had  been  making  a  sorry  mess  of 
things  at  Bridport  House.  These  ladies,  however,  were 
so  cunning,  that  they  did  not  show  their  hands  at  once. 
To  begin  with,  they  exchanged  a  glance  full  of  mean- 
ing, and  then  as  Mary  got  up  and  made  for  the  door, 
Mrs  Wren  commanded  her  to  sit  down  again  and  tell 
them  what  she  thought  of  Charley.  That  was  guile. 
She  didn't  in  the  least  want  to  know  what  anyone 
thought  of  Charley;  besides,  it  would  have  been  quite 
possible  for  Mary  to  deliver  her  verdict  even  as  she  stood 
with  the  knob  of  the  door  in  her  hand. 

"I  like  him — immensely!"  she  said,  returning  to  the 
sofa  in  deference  to  Mrs.  Wren. 

Mother  and  daughter  looked  at  her  searchingly,  with 
eyes  that  questioned. 

"I  like  him — immensely!"  she  repeated. 

"He's  not  the  kind  of  man,"  said  Mrs.  Wren  with  an 
air  of  vexation,  "I  should  have  written  home  about  when 
I  was  a  girl." 

"What's  wrong  with  him  ?"  said  Milly,  bridling.  "Why 
do  you  always  crab  him,  mother  ?" 

218 


AN  INTERLUDE 


"I — crab  him!"  Mrs.  Wren's  air  was  the  perfection 
of  injured  innocence.  "Nothing  of  the  kind.  It  isn't 
his  fault  he's  not  a  blue  blood — and  if  my  lord  of 
Wrexham's  form  is  anything  to  go  by,  he  may  be  none 
the  worse  for  that." 

"Yes,  of  course,  as  far  as  you  are  concerned 
Wrexham's  the  fly  in  the  ointment,"  said  Milly  with  a 
sudden  flutter  of  anger. 

Mary  would  have  given  much  to  escape,  but  to  have 
fled  with  thunder  and  forked  lightning  in  the  air  would 
have  been  an  act  of  cowardice,  not  to  say  treachery. 

The  truth  was  Mrs.  Wren  still  had  other  views  for 
Milly,  but  up  till  now  Wrexham  had  disappointed  her. 
Moreover,  both  these  clear-headed  and  extremely  prac- 
tical ladies  were  inclined  to  think  he  would  continue  to 
do  so.  For  one  thing  he  was  under  the  thumb  of  his 
family,  who  were  as  hostile  as  they  could  be;  again 
Wrexham  was  a  bit  of  a  weakling  who  didn't  quite  know 
his  own  mind.  Certainly  he  had  a  regard  for  Milly,  but 
whether  it  would  enable  him  to  wear  a  martyr's  crown 
was  very  doubtful.  Milly,  at  any  rate,  had  allowed  a 
second  Richmond  to  enter  the  field  of  her  affections,  in 
the  shape  of  Mr.  Charles  Cheesewright,  the  sole  inher- 
itor of  Cheesewright's  Mixture,  a  young  man  of  obscure 
antecedents  but  of  considerable  wealth.  So  far  Mr. 
Cheesewright  had  received  small  encouragement  from 
Mrs.  Wren,  and  Milly  herself  had  been  very  guarded  in 
her  attitude ;  yet  it  was  as  plain  as  could  be  that  one  of 
the  more  expensive  of  the  public  schools  and  one  of  the 
older  universities  had  made  a  little  gentleman  of  Mr. 
Cheesewright.  "But,"  as  Milly  said,  "the  truth  was 
Wrexham  had  simply  queered  the  pitch  for  everybody." 

219 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


Mary,  as  the  friend  of  all  parties,  including  Mr. 
Cheesewright,  who  had  unexpectedly  found  favor  in  her 
sight,  felt  it  to  be  her  duty  to  stay  in  the  room,  so  that, 
if  possible,  oil  might  be  poured  on  the  troubled  waters. 
She  had  sense  of  acute  discomfort,  it  was  true;  and  it 
was  not  made  less  by  the  sure  knowledge  that  the  heavy 
weapons  mother  and  daughter  were  using  for  the  benefit 
of  each  other  would  soon  be  turned  against  herself. 

There  was  not  long  to  wait  for  this  prophecy  to  be 
fulfilled.  As  soon  as  the  ladies  had  cut  off  her  retreat, 
they  dropped  the  academic  subject  of  Mr.  Cheesewright 
and  bluntly  demanded  to  know  what  was  the  matter. 
It  was  vain  for  Mary  to  try  to  parry  this  expected  attack. 
Her  friends,  when  their  feelings  were  deeply  stirred, 
indulged  in  a  sledge-hammer  style  of  warfare,  against 
which  any  ordinary  kind  of  defense  was  powerless. 

"Don't  tell  me,"  said  Mrs.  Wren,  "that  you  have  let 
them  bully  you  into  giving  him  up !" 

This  was  what  Milly  was  wont  to  call  her  mother's 
"old  Sadler's  Wells  touch"  with  a  vengeance.  The 
victim  bit  her  lip  sharply,  but  she  could  not  prevent  the 
color  from  rushing  to  her  cheeks  and  giving  her  com- 
pletely away. 

"Why,  of  course  she  has!"  cried  Milly,  looking  at 
her  pitilessly.  "I  knew  she  would.  I  told  you,  my  dear, 
she  was  set  on  doing  something  fantastic.  And  here 
have  I  been  telling  Charley  that  one  day  she  would  be  a 
duchess." 

"I  call  it  soppy,"  said  Mrs.  Wren. 

"Downright  mental  flabbiness,"  cried  Milly.  "It's  the 
sort  of  thing  a  girl  would  do  in  the  Family  Herald." 

Mary  quailed  before  these  taunts.     Even  if  her  friends 

220 


AN  INTERLUDE 


had  an  unconventional  way  of  expressing  themselves,  it 
did  not  blind  her  to  the  poignant  nature  of  their  emo- 
tions. In  the  tone  of  mother  and  daughter  was  a  note 
which  showed  how  deeply  they  were  wounded  by  her 
moral  weakness — they  could  consider  it  nothing  else. 
And  the  bitterness  of  the  attack  was  the  measure  of  their 
devotion.  Mrs.  Wren  could  hardly  restrain  her  tongue, 
Milly  was  at  the  verge  of  tears.  Such  a  girl  as  Mary 
Lawrence  had  no  right  to  wreck  two  lives  for  a  mere 
whim. 

"You  are  nothing  but  a  fool,"  said  Mrs.  Wren. 
"You'll  never  get  such  a  chance  again.  I'd  like  to  shake 
you." 

Mary  had  no  fight  left  in  her.  She  sat  on  the  sofa 
a  picture  of  dismay.  For  the  first  time  she  saw  mother 
and  daughter  as  they  really  were,  in  all  their  native 
crudeness;  yet  when  the  worst  was  said  of  them  they 
had  a  generosity  of  soul  which  made  them  suffer  on 
her  account;  and  that  fact  alone  seemed  to  leave  her  at 
their  mercy. 

"You've  no  right  to  let  them  ruin  your  life  and  his," 
said  Milly  pitilessly. 

"One  simply  can't  go  where  one  isn't  wanted,"  said 
Mary  at  last  with  a  face  of  ashes. 

Mrs.  Wren  took  up  the  phrase,  the  first  the  girl  had 
been  able  to  utter  in  her  own  defense,  and  flung  it  back. 
"Not  wanted  forsooth!  Who  are  they  that  they  should 
pick  and  choose!  A  dead  charge  on  the  community — 
neither  more  nor  less." 

"No  one  can't,"  said  Mary,  tormentedly.  "How  could 
one!" 

"Rubbish !"  said  Mrs.  Wren.     "You  can't  afford  to  be 

221 


so  proud.  From  the  way  you  talk  you  might  be  the 
Queen  of  England." 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "And  it  isn't  quite  fair 
that  they  should  have  to  put  up  with  me." 

Those  unfortunate  words  were  made  to  recoil  upon 
her  heavily.  Both  her  assailants  were  frankly  amazed 
that  she  should  want  to  look  at  the  matter  from  the 
enemy  point  of  view.  To  such  a  mind  as  Mrs.  Wren's 
it  could  only  mean  that  Bridport  House  had  hypnotized 
her  with  the  semblance  of  place  and  power. 

"I  could  shake  you,"  re-affirmed  the  good  lady.  "A 
girl  as  first-rate  as  you  are  has  no  right  to  be  a  snob." 

Somehow  that  barb  was  horrible.  Nothing  wounds 
like  the  truth. 

Strong  in  the  conviction  that  "she  had  got  her"  Mrs. 
Wren  proceeded.  "You  set  as  high  a  value  on  these 
people  as  they  set  on  themselves.  It's  noodles  like  you 
who  keep  them  up.  What  use  are  they  anyway,  except 
to  play  the  fool  with  honest  folk  ?" 

"Yes,  that's  right,"  said  Milly  with  flashing  eyes,  as 
she  took  up  the  parable.  "Wrexham's  one  of  the  same 
push.  His  lot  simply  won't  look  at  me,  yet  I  consider 
myself  the  equal  of  anyone.  And  I  should  make  a  very 
good  countess." 

Mary  could  only  gasp.  She  was  rather  overcome  by 
this  naivete. 

"So  you  would,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Wren.  "And 
one  of  these  days  you  will  be  a  countess — if  you  don't 
throw  yourself  away  on  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry  in  the 
meantime." 

Mary  was  hard  set  not  to  break  out  in  a  hysterical 
laugh.  She  was  in  the  depths  if  ever  soul  was,  yet  the 

222 


AN  INTERLUDE 


sense  of  humor  is  immortal  and  survives  every  torment. 
Fate,  however,  had  not  yet  given  the  last  turn  to  the 
screw. 


At  this  moment  the  neat  parlormaid  came  into  the 
room. 

"Mr.  Dinneford !"  she  announced. 

Jack  stood  a  moment  on  the  threshold  to  gaze  at  the 
three  occupants.  He  was  rather  like  a  sailor  who  fears 
foul  weather*  and  has  not  the  courage  to  read  the  sky. 

"I'm  glad  you've  come,  young  man,"  said  Mrs.  Wren, 
getting  up  to  receive  him.  And  she  added  almost  at 
once,  for  it  was  never  her  way  to  beat  about  the  bush, 
"We  are  giving  her  the  finest  talking  to  she  has  ever  had 
in  her  life." 

Jack  nearly  groaned.  The  look  of  the  three  of  them 
had  told  him  already  that  she  must  have  made  a  fearful 
hash  of  things. 

By  now  the  Tenderfoot  had  risen  very  high  in  Mrs. 
Wren's  favor.  To  begin  with  he  would  one  day  be  the 
indubitable  sixth  Duke  of  Bridport — a  handicap,  no 
doubt,  in  the  sight  of  some  types  of  democrat,  but  appar- 
ently not,  in  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Wren,  an  insuperable 
barrier.  Again,  she  was  a  pretty  shrewd  judge  of  a 
man,  and  this  one  had  passed  all  his  examinations  so 
far  with  flying  colors.  He  was  absolutely  straight- 
forward, absolutely  honorable;  moreover,  he  knew  his 
own  mind — whereby  he  had  a  signal  advantage  over  his 
stable  companion,  who,  in  spite  of  great  merits,  was  lack- 
ing in  character. 

"Yes,  we  are  setting  her  to  rights,"  said  Milly, 
223 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


wrinkling  a  nose  of  charming  pugnacity.  The  face  of 
the  culprit  was  tense  and  rather  piteous,  but  Jack's 
glance  at  it  was  perfectly  remorseless. 

"I  knew  she  would,"  he  groaned. 

"Knew  she  would  what?"  demanded  Mrs.  Wren. 

"Let  Uncle  Albert  down  her,"  was  the  prompt  re- 
joinder. 

"That  didn't  want  much  guessing,"  said  Milly  bitterly. 

"Bridport-House-itis !  That's  her  trouble,"  said  Mrs. 
Wren.  "And  she  seems  to  have  quite  a  bad  form  of 
the  disease.  I  can't  understand  such  a  girl,  I  can't  really. 
To  me  she's  unnatural.  If  I  found  people  'coming  the 
heavy'  over  me,  I  should  just  set  my  back  to  the  wall  and 
say,  'Very  well,  my  fine  friends,  I'm  now  going  to  let 
you  see  that  Jane  Wren  is  every  bit  as  good  as  you  are.'  " 

"So  would  any  other  reasonable  being."  And  that  un- 
premeditated speech  of  the  Tenderfoot's  would  have 
made  Mrs.  Wren  his  friend  for  life,  had  she  not  become 
so  already. 

"That's  what  I  call  sensible,"  said  she.  "And  there's 
only  one  thing  for  you  to  do  now,  young  man,  and  that 
is  to  take  her  straight  away  and  marry  her." 

At  this  point  Mary  got  up  from  her  sofa.  But  Mrs. 
Wren  held  one  great  advantage;  she  had  her  back  to 
the  door.  "You  don't  leave  this  room,  my  fine  lady" — 
again  "the  old  Sadler's  Wells  touch,"  and  Jack  and  Milly 
could  not  deny  that  it  was  rather  superb — "until  you 
realize  that  we  all  think  alike  in  this  matter." 

"Quite  so,"  said  the  Tenderfoot,  immensely  stimulated 
by  this  powerful  backing.  "Let  us  try  to  see  the  thing 
as  it  is.  This  isn't  a  case  for  high  falutin'  sentiment. 

224 


AN  INTERLUDE 


Bridport  House  is  steeped  in  crass  idiocy;  all  the  more 
reason,  I  say,  that  we  give  it  no  encouragement." 

"Quite  so,"  chimed  Mrs.  Wren. 

"Quite  so,"  chimed  Milly,  who  was  irresistibly  re- 
minded of  a  recent  command  performance  of  "Money." 

Mrs.  Wren  shook  a  histrionic  finger  at  the  luckless 
Mary,  whose  eyes  were  seeking  rather  wildly  a  means 
of  escape.  "Don't  speak!  Don't  venture  to  say  a 
word!"  The  victim  had  not  shown  the  least  disposition 
to  do  so.  "You  simply  haven't  a  leg  to  stand  on,  you 
know." 

It  was  a  shameful  piece  of  bullying  but  the  victim 
bore  it  stoically.  And  it  did  not  go  on  for  long. 
Neither  Mrs.  Wren  nor  Milly  was  exactly  a  fool.  As 
soon  as  they  saw  that  main  force  was  not  likely  to  help 
them,  and  that  more  harm  than  good  might  be  done  by 
it,  they  decided  to  leave  the  whole  matter  to  Jack.  They 
had  expressed  their  own  point  of  view  very  fully,  they 
knew  that  he  could  be  trusted  to  make  the  most  of  his 
case ;  besides,  when  all  was  said,  he  was  the  person  best 
able  to  deal  with  an  entirely  vexatious  affair. 

Of  a  sudden,  the  astute  Milly  flung  a  swift  glance  at 
her  mother  and  got  up  from  her  chair.  And  without 
another  word  on  the  subject,  this  pair  of  conspirators 
dramatically  withdrew. 

VI 

Such  an  exit  from  the  scene  was  far  more  eloquent 
than  words.  And  its  immediate  effect  was  to  plunge 
Jack  and  Mary  with  a  haste  that  was  hardly  decent,  into 
what  both  felt  was  perilously  like  a  final  crisis.  Its  very 
nature  was  of  a  sort  that  a  finer  diplomacy  would  have 

225 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


been  careful  to  avoid.  But  Jack,  baffled  and  angry,  was 
not  in  a  mood  to  temporize;  besides,  that  was  never  his 
way. 

The  fine  shades  of  emotion  were  not  for  him,  but  he 
had  the  perception  to  feel  that  if  he  remained  five 
minutes  longer  in  that  little  room  the  game  might  be  lost 
irretrievably.  In  fact,  it  seemed  to  be  lost  already.  The 
specter  of  defeat  was  hovering  round  him;  nay,  it  was 
embodied  in  the  very  atmosphere  he  breathed. 

Knowing  the  moment  to  be  full  of  peril,  he  determined 
to  force  himself  to  the  greatest  delicacy  of  which  he  was 
capable,  for  this  might  prove  the  final  throw.  The  look 
in  her  eyes  seemed  to  tell  him  that  all  was  lost,  but  he 
would  set  the  thought  aside  and  act  as  if  he  were  not 
aware  of  it. 

A  long  and  very  trying  pause  lent  weight  to  this  deci- 
sion, and  then  at  last  he  said  in  a  tone  altogether  different 
from  the  one  he  had  recently  used,  "Tell  me,  why  are 
you  so  determined  to  keep  a  hardshell  like  Uncle  Albert 
on  his  pedestal  ?" 

The  form  of  the  question  provoked  a  wry  little  smile. 
"We  poor  females  are  by  nature  conservative." 

"You  are  that,"  he  said.  "Take  you  and  me.  We've 
both  seen  the  world.  And  the  world  has  changed  me 
altogether,  but  I  should  say  it  hasn't  changed  you  at  all." 

"No;  I  don't  think  it  has,"  she  admitted  ruefully,  "in 
the  things  that  are  really  important." 

"Six  years  ago,  before  I  went  West,  I  saw  Bridport 
House  at  pretty  much  the  same  angle  you  see  it  now. 
But  I  suppose  if  you  get  lumbering  timber,  or  living  by 
your  wits,  or  looking  for  gold  in  the  Yukon,  it  mighty 
soon  comes  home  to  you  that  it  is  only  realities  that 

226 


AN  INTERLUDE 


count.  And  the  cold  truth  is  that  Bridport  House  simply 
isn't  a  reality  at  all." 

"There  I  can't  agree  with  you,"  she  said  with  a  simple 
valor  he  was  bound  to  admire.  "I  haven't  seen  the 
Yukon,  but  I've  seen  Bridport  House  and  it's  intensely 
real  to  me.  Somehow  the  place  is  quite  wonderful.  It 
works  upon  one  like  a  charm." 

"I  was  a  fool  to  let  you  go  there." 

"But  it  only  confirms  my  guesses." 

"Why,  you  are  as  bad  as  your  Aunt  Sanderson,"  he 
burst  out.  "And  you  haven't  her  excuse.  One  can 
understand  her  point  of  view,  although  it's  very  extreme, 
and  absurdly  overdone,  but  yours,  if  you'll  let  me  say  so, 
is  merely  fanciful.  Why  you  should  be  absolutely  the 
last  person  in  the  world  to  be  hypnotized  by  mere  rank 
and  pride  of  place." 

"It  isn't  that  at  all." 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"It's  something  I  can't  explain,  a  kind  of  instinct,  I 
suppose.  Please  don't  think  I'm  overawed  by  vain 
shows.  But  there  is  such  a  thing  as  tradition,  at  least 
there  is  to  me,  and  every  stick  and  stone  of  that  house 
simply  glows  with  it." 

"Mere  sentiment!" 

"Oh,  yes — I  know — but  sentiment's  the  thing  that  rules 
the  world." 

"Plain,  practical  common  sense  rules  the  world.1" 

"I  mean  the  only  world  worth  living  in." 

He  could  do  nothing  with  her,  and  the  fact  was  now 
hurting  him  horribly.  A  man  used  to  his  own  way,  of 
clear  vision,  and  strong  will,  he  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  being  sidetracked  or  thwarted.  Besides,  her 

227 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


reasoning  was  demonstrably  false.  He  was  growing  bit- 
terly annoyed  but,  after  all,  such  a  solicitude  for  others 
only  added  to  her  value.  Moreover,  here  was  a  nature 
almost  fantastically  fine,  and  for  decency's  sake  he  must 
constrain  his  egotism  to  respect  her  scruples. 

But  the  sense  of  defeat  was  hard  to  bear.  Since  that 
morning's  fatal  visit  to  the  Mecca  of  tradition  her  will 
had  crystallized.  There  seemed  little  hope  of  shaking  it 
now. 

"Let  me  ask  one  question,"  he  said  tensely.  "Do  you 
still  care  for  me?" 

Before  she  could  answer  the  question  her  breath  came 
quickly,  her  color  mounted.  And  then  she  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "I  do — I  always  shall." 

It  was  no  use  telling  her  she  was  a  fool.  She  was 
grotesquely  in  the  wrong,  even  if  she  was  sublimely  in 
the  right.  He  would  like  to  have  shaken  her — and  yet 
how  dare  he  sully  her  with  a  point  of  view  which  was 
purely  personal? 

"I  expect  that  old  barbarian  is  laughing  finely  in  his 
sleeve,"  he  said  with  a  sudden  descent  to  another  plane. 

"You  don't  read  him  right."  A  warm  throb  of  feeling 
was  in  her  voice.  "He's  quite  deep  and  true — and  kind, 
so  kind  you  would  hardly  believe.  When  I  went  there 
this  morning  I  felt  I  was  going  to  hate  him,  and  yet  I 
find  I  can't." 

"You  are  an  idealist,"  he  said.  "And  you've  tuned  up 
that  old  cracked  file  to  the  pitch  of  your  own  sackbut 
and  psaltery.  He's  not  fine  in  any  way  if  you  see  him 
as  I  do — but  I'm  an  earthworm,  of  course.  He's  just 
a  hardshell  and  an  unbeliever,  who  runs  tradition  for  all 

228 


AN  INTERLUDE 


it's  worth,  because  that  means  loaves  and  fishes  for  him 
and  his." 

i  She  countered  this  speech  staunchly ;  it  was  not  worthy 
of  him.  And  yet  the  tone  of  reproof  was  so  gentle  that 
it  gave  him  new  courage.  Besides,  he  was  a  born  fighter 
and  the  mere  thought  of  losing  such  a  prize  was  more 
than  he  could  bear. 

"You  can't  go  back  on  your  word,"  he  burst  out  with 
sudden  defiance.  "You  made  a  promise  that  you're 
bound  to  keep." 

The  look  in  her  eyes  asked  for  pity.  "Oh!  I  could 
never  go  there,"  she  shivered,  "among  all  those  hostile 
women." 

"We  will  keep  a  thousand  miles  away  from  them." 
"They  have  told  me  I'm  not  good  enough." 
"Like  their  damned  impertinence!"     He  flushed  with 
anger. 

"But  I  promised  this  morning  that  I  wouldn't." 
"You  first  promised  me  that  you  would." 
Again  he  had  her  cornered.     It  was  almost  the  act  of 
a  cad  to  drive  her  so  hard,  but  he  was  an  elemental  who 
had  simply  to  obey  the  laws  of  his  being.     It  seemed 
madness  and  damnation  to  let  her  go.    And  yet  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes  which  he  dare  not  look  at.     If  he 
saw  them  he  was  done. 

With  a  kind  of  savage  joy  he  felt  her  weaken  a  little 
at  the  impact  of  his  will.  It  was  a  piece  of  cruelty  for 
which  there  was  no  help,  a  form  of  bullying  he  could 
not  avoid. 

"The  best  thing  we  can  do,"  he  said  suddenly,  "is  to 
get  married  at  once  and  then  clear  off  to  Canada.  Then 
we  shall  be  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of  Bridport  House." 

229 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"That  old  man  would  never  forgive  me,"  was  the 
simple  reply.  "It  would  make  the  whole  thing  quite 
hopeless  for  everybody." 

He  checked  the  words  at  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  She 
had  no  right  to  play  for  the  other  side,  but  there  was 
something  in  her  bearing  which  shamed  him  to  silence. 
For  the  first  time  he  was  torn;  this  immolation  of  self 
might  be  a  deeper  wisdom;  at  least  he  felt  thin  and 
shallow  in  its  presence. 

"Won't  you  help  me?"  She  laid  a  hand  on  his. 
Tears  were  now  running  down  her  cheeks. 

He  caught  his  breath  sharply  at  the  unexpected  appeal ; 
it  was  like  the  fixing  of  a  knife.  There  was  no  alterna- 
tive ;  he  saw  at  once  with  fatal  clearness  that  these  four 
little  words  cut  the  ground  from  under  his  feet. 
'  "Of  course  I  will,"  he  said  miserably,  "if  that  is  how 
you  really  feel  about  it." 

She  bowed  her  head  in  the  moment's  intensity. 
"Thank  you,"  she  said  softly. 

He  could  only  gasp.    Here  was  the  end. 

"We  must  forget  each  other,"  she  said  stoically. 

"Or  ask  the  sun  and  moon  to  stand  still,"  he  said.  "I 
shall  never  marry  anyone  else." 

She  gave  him  the  honest  hand  of  the  good  comrade 
and  he  took  it  to  his  lips. 

"I  shall  go  back  to  Canada." 

"Won't  you  stay  and  help  them?" 

"No,"  he  said,  "these  stupid  people  have  got  on  my 
nerves.  Besides,  this  city  is  not  big  enough  to  hold  us 
both  just  now." 

"I  intend  to  go  to  Paris  and  study  for  the  opera." 
230 


AN  INTERLUDE 


"No,"  he  said  decisively.  "This  time  next  week  I  shall 
be  on  my  way  back  to  Vancouver,  unless " 

"Unless ?" 

"Unless  Bridport  House  can  be  made  to  forget  the 
Parish  Pump  in  the  meantime.  And  there's  hardly  a 
chance  of  that." 


CHAPTER  X 

TIME'S  REVENGE 

I 

HIS  Grace  had  had  such  a  very  bad  night  that 
he  was  only  just  able  to  reach  his  morning- 
room  by  the  discreet  hour  of  eleven.     He  was 
so  exceedingly  irritable  that  even  the  presence  of  the 
Times  on  the  little  table  at  his  elbow  was  almost  too 
much  for  him.    And  barely  had  he  settled  himself  in 
his  chair  and  put  on  his  spectacles  when  an  acute  annoy- 
ance with  the  nature  of  things  was  further  increased  by 
the  ill-timed  appearance  of  his  private  secretary,  Mr. 
Gilbert  Twalmley. 

Mr.  Twalmley  so  well  understood  the  art  of  being 
agreeable,  that,  of  itself,  his  appearance  was  seldom  if 
ever  unwelcome ;  had  the  fact  been  otherwise  it  is  reason- 
ably certain  that  long  ago  he  would  have  had  to  seek 
some  other  sphere  of  usefulness.  And  even  on  this  sin- 
ister morning  Mr.  Twalmley  was  not  the  head  and  front 
of  his  own  offending;  the  germ  of  unpopularity  was  in 
the  message  that  he  bore. 

"Sir  Dugald  Maclean  has  rung  up,  sir.  He  would 
like  to  know  if  you  can  see  him  on  a  matter  of  urgent 
importance." 

"When?"  said  the  Duke  sourly. 

232 


TIME'S  REVENGE 


"He  will  come  round  at  once." 

The  fact  was  clear  that  his  Grace  was  not  in  a  mood 
to  receive  anyone  just  then,  least  of  all  Sir  Dugald 
Maclean,  who  at  any  time  was  far  from  being  persona 
gratissima  at  Bridport  House.  But  after  a  mental  strug- 
gle, which  if  quite  short  was  rather  grim,  he  allowed 
public  policy  to  override  his  private  feelings. 

"I  suppose  I'd  better,"  he  said  with  something 
ominously  like  a  groan  of  disgust. 

II 

Even  when  the  decision  was  taken  and  Mr.  Twalrrtley 
had  gone  to  make  it  known,  the  Duke  was  not  quite  clear 
in  his  mind  as  to  why  he  should  submit  to  such  an  ordeal. 
Was  it  really  necessary  to  see  this  man?  Would  any 
purpose  be  served  by  his  so  doing? 

This  morning  the  Duke  was  in  a  mood  of  vacillation, 
itself  the  sequel  to  a  night  of  physical  and  mental  tor- 
ment. Men  and  events  and  Nature's  own  self  were  con- 
spiring against  him;  the  future  and  the  past  were  alike 
in  their  menace;  he  could  see  nothing  ahead  but  a  vista 
of  anxiety. 

Waiting  for  this  man  whom  he  disliked  so  intensely, 
he  tried  at  first  to  fix  his  mind  on  the  morning's  news, 
and  failed  lamentably.  For  one  thing  the  paper  itself 
was  a  sinister  portent  of  the  times.  But  there  were 
others,  and  in  the  interval  of  waiting  for  an  unwelcome 
visitor  his  Grace  reviewed  them  gloomily. 

Albert  John  had  lived  to  see  dark  days.  At  heart  a 
time-server  and  a  cynic,  his  strongest  wish  had  been  to 
go  to  the  grave  in  the  faith  of  his  fathers.  In  the  begin- 
ning none  had  realized  more  clearly  than  he  that  dukes 

233 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


were  not  as  other  men.  Born  to  that  convenient  dogma, 
or  at  least  having  imbibed  it  with  the  milk  of  infancy,  it 
was  in  the  very  marrow  of  his  bones.  But  now,  it  would 
seem,  the  Time  Spirit  had  overtaken  the  order  to  which 
he  belonged. 

Twin  portents  of  that  fact  had  hovered  all  night  round 
his  pillow.  First  came  the  business  of  Jack  and  the 
lady  of  his  choice,  who  at  close  quarters  had  proved  to 
be  so  much  more  than  his  Grace  had  bargained  for; 
then  there  was  the  minor  yet  entirely  vexing  complica- 
tion of  Muriel  and  her  Berserker  of  a  Radical. 

Compared  with  the  first  gigantic  issue,  the  second  was 
a  mere  sideshow,  which  in  a  happier  hour  his  Grace 
would  have  treated  with  sardonic  contempt.  After  all, 
did  it  greatly  matter  if  Muriel  had  the  ill  taste  to  prefer 
an  obvious  political  thruster  and  arriviste  to  a  state  of 
single  blessedness?  The  heavens  were  not  likely  to  fall 
in  either  case.  The  man  was  a  cad  and  there  was  no 
more  to  be  said,  yet  even  Albert  John  was  not  quite  able 
to  maintain  the  standpoint  of  High  Olympus.  Such  a 
mountebank  of  a  fellow  ought  not  to  count,  yet  when  the 
best  had  been  said  there  was  something  about  the  brute 
which  rankled  horribly. 

Some  years  before,  in  a  historic  speech  in  the  Gilded 
Chamber,  the  Duke  had  drawn  a  lurid  picture  of  de- 
mocracy knocking  at  the  gate.  His  words  were  so 
nakedly  obvious  that  in  a  single  morning  they  awoke  to 
fame  throughout  a  flattered  and  delighted  island. 
Everybody  had  known  for  a  generation  that  democracy 
was  knocking  at  the  gate,  but  the  true  art  of  prophecy  as 
a  going  concern  is  to  predict  the  event  the  day  after  it 
happens. 

234 


TIME'S  REVENGE 


His  Grace  of  Bridport,  in  the  course  of  an  admired 
speech,  left  no  doubt  as  to  his  own  feeling  in  the  matter. 
He  conceived  it  to  be  his  duty  to  hold  the  gate  as  long 
as  possible  against  the  mob.  But  his  memorable  re- 
marks, a  little  touched,  no  doubt,  with  the  crudity  of  one 
who  spoke  seldom,  gave  opportunity  for  a  thruster  in 
the  person  of  a  rising  Scots  publicist  to  convulse  the 
Lower  House  with  his  fanciful  portrait  of  the  Great 
Panjandram  of  Bridport  House  with  little  round  button 
on  top. 

That  had  happened  some  years  ago.  But  the 
alchemies  of  time  had  now  prepared  a  charming  comedy 
for  the  initiated.  The  temerarious  Scotsman,  moving 
from  triumph  to  triumph,  had  determined  to  consolidate 
his  fortunes  by  marrying  the  third  daughter  of  the  house 
of  Dinneford. 

When  Sir  Dugald's  decision  became  known  to  the 
Duke,  his  amazement  took  a  very  caustic  turn.  He  had 
never  forgiven  the  fellow  for  so  savagely  flaunting  him 
as  a  trophy  at  the  end  of  a  pole.  "Rien  qui  blesse  comme 
la  verite"  It  was  therefore  hard  for  his  Grace  to 
knuckle  down  to  this  adventurer.  Besides,  had  Sir 
Dugald's  opinions  been  other  than  they  were,  one  of  his 
kidney  must  not  look  for  a  welcome  at  Bridport  House. 

Democracy  was  knocking  at  the  gate  with  a  vengeance. 
Muriel's  affair  had  shaken  the  Family  to  its  base.  For 
some  little  time  past  it  was  known  that  she  was  cultivat- 
ing breadth.  Her  coquettings  with  that  dangerous  ten- 
dency had  affected  her  diet,  her  clothes,  her  reading,  as 
well  as  her  social  and  mental  outlook.  She  had  formed 
quite  a  habit  of  emerging  from  the  Times  Book  Club 
with  all  kinds  of  highbrows  in  a  strap.  She  had  made 

235 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


odd  friendships,  she  had  joined  queer  movements,  and 
from  time  to  time  she  regaled  very  remarkable  people 
with  tea  and  cake  at  Bridport  House. 

To  all  this  there  could  only  be  one  end.  First  she 
consulted  her  oculist  and  changed  her  glasses,  and  then 
she  fell  in  love.  She  was  the  first  of  the  Bridport  ladies 
to  enter  that  state;  thus  she  was  less  a  portent  than  a 
phenomenon.  Sarah,  Blanche,  and  Marjorie  gave  her 
the  cold  shoulder,  and  Aunt  Charlotte  frowned,  but  there 
was  no  getting  over  the  sinister  fact  that  Breadth  had 
at  last  undone  her.  Sir  Dugald  had  recently  been  seen 
for  the  first  time  in  one  of  the  smaller  and  less  uncom- 
fortable drawing-rooms  of  Bridport  House.  The  Dinne- 
ford  ladies  seldom  read  the  newspapers,  at  least  the  polit- 
ical part  of  them,  being  beyond  all  things  "healthy- 
minded"  women ;  therefore  they  knew  little  of  the  facts 
of  his  career.  Moreover,  they  were  in  happy  ignorance 
of  the  attack  he  had  launched  three  years  ago  upon  their 
sire.  But  it  cannot  be  said  of  Muriel  that  she  was 
equally  innocent.  Evil  communications  corrupt  good 
manners ;  Breadth  had  made  a  recourse  to  politics  inevi- 
table. And  the  slight  importance  she  attached  to  a 
certain  incident  was,  to  say  the  least,  unfilial. 

In  the  cool,  appraising  eyes  of  Sarah,  Blanche,  and 
Marjorie,  the  bold  Sir  Dugald  was  set  down  already  as 
a  freak  of  nature.  They  were  not  used  to  that  sort  of 
person  at  Bridport  House.  Unfortunately  such  an  atti- 
tude forbade  any  just  perception  of  the  man  himself. 
His  career  was  still  in  the  making,  and  in  the  view  of 
keen  but  unsympathetic  observers  who  had  followed  it 
from  the  start,  the  hapless  Muriel  had  been  marked  down 
in  order  that  she  might  advance  him  in  it.  Moreover,  up 

236 


TIME'S  REVENGE 


till  now,  his  ambition  had  never  known  defeat,  particu- 
larly when  inflamed  by  a  worthy  object. 

According  to  biographies  of  the  People's  Champion, 
portrait  on  cover,  price  one  shilling  net,  which  flooded 
the  bookstalls  of  his  adopted  country,  his  life  had  been  a 
fine  expression  of  the  deep  spiritual  truth,  "God  helps 
those  who  help  themselves."  His  career  had  been  truly 
remarkable,  yet  in  the  opinion  of  qualified  judges  it  was 
only  just  beginning.  In  the  person  of  Sir  Dugald 
Maclean,  Democracy  was  knocking  at  the  gate  with  a 
vengeance.  Its  keepers  must  be  up  and  doing  lest  Demos 
ravish  the  citadel  within  and  get  clear  away  with  the 
pictures,  the  heirlooms  and  the  gold  plate. 

"She  must  be  out  of  her  mind,"  declared  the  Duke  at 
the  first  announcement  of  the  grisly  tidings.  Lady 
Wargrave  went  further.  "She  is  out  of  her  mind," 
trumpeted  the  sage  of  Hill  Street. 

There  were  alarums  and  excursions,  there  was  a  pretty 
todo.  But  Muriel  had  grown  so  Broad  that  she  treated 
the  matter  very  lightly.  The  ruthless  Sir  Dugald  had 
tied  her  to  the  wheel  of  his  car ;  he  was  now  determined 
to  lead  her  to  the  altar  with  or  without  the  sanction  of 
his  Grace. 

ill 

All  too  soon  for  the  Duke's  liking  in  this  hour  of  fate, 
Sir  Dugald  arrived  for  his  interview.  At  any  time  he 
was  a  bitter  pill  for  his  Grace  to  swallow;  just  now,  in 
the  light  of  present  circumstances,  it  called  for  the  virtue 
of  a  stoic  to  receive  him  at  all. 

Now  these  adversaries  met  again  certain  ugly  mem- 
ories were  in  their  minds.  But  the  advantage  was  with 

237 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


the  younger  man  who  could  afford  to  be  secretly  amused 
by  the  business  in  hand.  A  semblance  of  respect,  to  be 
sure,  was  in  his  bearing,  but  that  was  no  more  than 
homage  paid  by  worldly  wisdom  to  the  spirit  of  place. 
Right  at  the  back  lay  the  mind  of  the  cool  calculator, 
which  in  certain  aspects  had  an  insight  almost  devilish 
into  the  heart  of  material  man.  Well  he  knew  the  hos- 
tility of  this  peevish,  brooding  invalid.  He  was  in  a 
position  to  flout  it;  yet,  after  all,  the  man  who  now  re- 
ceived him  would  have  been  rather  more  than  human 
had  he  not  hated  him  like  poison. 

Sir  Dugald  could  afford  to  smile  at  this  figure  of 
impotence;  yet  the  Duke,  in  his  way,  was  no  mean  ad- 
versary. Up  to  a  point  his  mind  was  extremely  vigorous. 
The  will  to  prevail  against  encroachment  on  the  privi- 
leges of  his  class  was  still  strong.  Besides  physical  suf- 
fering had  not  yet  bereft  him  of  a  maliciously  nice 
appreciation  of  the  human  comedy.  It  may  even  have 
been  that  which  now  enabled  him  to  receive  "the 
thruster." 

As  Sir  Dugald  entered  the  room  he  was  keenly  aware 
that  the  eyes  of  a  satyr  were  fixed  upon  him.  And  the 
picture  of  a  rather  fantastic  helplessness,  propped  in  its 
chair,  was  not  without  its  pathos.  The  old  lion,  stricken 
sore,  would  have  given  much  to  rend  the  intruder,  but 
he  was  in  the  grip  of  Fate. 

The  success  of  Sir  Dugald  had  been  magical,  but  luck 
had  played  no  part  in  it,  beyond  the  period  of  the  world's 
history  and  the  particular  corner  of  the  globe  in  which 
he  happened  to  be  born.  He  had  got  as  far  as  he  had  in 
a  time  comparatively  short  for  the  simple  reason  that  he 
was  a  man  of  quite  unusual  powers. 

238 


TIME'S  REVENGE 


No  man  could  have  had  a  truer  perception  of  the  con- 
ditions among  which  he  had  been  cast  than  Dugald 
Maclean,  no  man  could  have  had  a  stronger  grasp  of 
certain  forces,  or  of  the  alchemy  transmuting  them  into 
things  undreamt  of;  no  man  could  have  had  a  bolder 
outlook  upon  the  whole  amazing  phantasmagoria  evolved 
by  the  cosmic  dust  out  of  the  wonders  within  itself.  The 
Duke  had  the  cynicism  of  the  materialist;  the  man  who 
faced  him  now  had  the  vision  of  him  who  sees  too  much. 

The  Duke,  with  a  great  air  and  a  courtesy  which  was 
second  nature,  begged  his  visitor  to  forgive  his  being  as 
he  was. 

Sir  Dugald,  with  a  mechanical  formula  and  a  mechan- 
ical smile,  responded  with  a  ready  sympathy.  But  while 
their  conventional  phrases  flowed,  each  marked  the  other 
narrowly,  like  a  pair  of  strange  brigands  colloguing  for 
the  first  time  on  the  side  of  a  mountain.  It  was  as  if 
each  knew  the  other  for  a  devil  of  a  fellow,  yet  not  quite 
such  a  devil  of  a  fellow  as  he  judges  himself  to  be. 

Efficiency  was  the  watchword  of  Maclean.  There  was 
no  beating  about  the  bush.  He  knew  what  he  wanted 
and  had  come  to  see  that  he  got  it.  In  a  cool,  aloof, 
rather  detached  way  he  lost  no  time  in  putting  forward 
the  demand  he  had  made  at  a  former  meeting. 

"But  one  has  been  led  to  infer  from  your  speeches," 
said  the  Duke,  bluntly,  "and  the  facts  of  your  career,  that 
you  stand  for  an  order  of  things  very  different  from 
those  obtaining  here." 

"Up  to  a  point,  yes,"  was  the  ready  answer.  "But 
only  up  to  a  point.  In  order  to  govern  efficiency  it  is 
wise  to  aim  at  a  centralization  of  power.  The  happiest 
communities  are  those  in  which  power  is  in  the  hands 

239 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


of  the  few.  Now  there  is  much  in  the  social  hierarchy, 
even  as  at  present  constituted,  which  deserves  to  survive 
the  shock  of  battle  that  will  soon  be  upon  us.  It  ought 
to  survive,  for  it  has  proved  its  worth.  And  in  identify- 
ing myself  with  it  I  shall  be  glad  when  the  time  comes 
to  help  your  people  here  if  only  you  will  help  me  now." 

"In  a  word,  you  are  ready  to  throw  over  your  friends," 
said  the  Duke  with  a  narrowing  eye. 

"By  no  means!  I  have  not  the  least  intention  of 
doing  that." 

His  Grace  was  hard  to  convince;  besides  the  man's 
nonchalance  incensed  him.  "Well,  as  I  have  told  you 
already,  the  only  terms  on  which  we  can  begin  to  think 
of  having  you  here  are  that  you  quit  your  present  stable." 

"Don't  you  think  you  take  a  parochial  view?"  The 
considered  coolness  had  the  power  to  infuriate.  "Which- 
ever stable  one  happens  to  occupy  at  the  moment  is  not 
very  material.  It  is  simply  a  means  to  an  end." 

"To  what  end?" 

"The  better  government  of  the  country — of  the  Em- 
pire, if  you  prefer  it." 

"You  aim  at  the  top?" 

"Undoubtedly.     And  I  think  I  shall  get  there." 

The  note  of  self-confidence  was  a  little  too  much  for 
his  Grace.  He  shot  out  an  ugly  lower  lip  and  plucked 
savagely  at  the  small  tuft  of  hair  upon  it.  "That  remains 
to  be  seen,  my  friend."  And  he  added  in  a  tone  of  ice, 
"When  you  have  got  there  you  can  come  and  ask  me 
again." 

"But  it  is  going  to  take  time,"  Sir  Dugald  spoke  lightly 
and  readily,  not  deigning  to  accept  the  challenge. 

240 


TIME'S  REVENGE 


"Meanwhile  Lady  Muriel  and  I  would  like  to  get  mar- 
ried." 

It  seemed,  however,  that  the  Duke  had  made  up  his 
mind  in  the  matter  quite  definitely.  There  must  be  a  coat 
of  political  whitewash  for  a  dirty  dog  before  he  could 
hope  to  receive  any  kind  of  official  sanction  as  a  son-in- 
law.  Such  in  effect  was  the  last  word  of  his  Grace; 
and  it  was  delivered  with  a  point  that  was  meant  to 
lacerate. 

It  did  not  fail  of  its  effect.  Somehow  the  ducal  brand 
of  cynicism  was  edged  like  a  razor,  and  the  underlying 
contempt  poisoned  the  wounds  it  dealt.  The  man  who 
had  sprung  from  the  people,  who  in  accordance  with 
the  brutal  innuendo  of  the  man  of  privilege  would  be 
only  too  ready  to  throw  them  over  as  soon  as  they  had 
served  his  turn,  was  powerless  before  it.  At  this 
moment,  as  he  was  ruefully  discovering,  place  and  power 
did  not  hesitate  to  use  loaded  dice. 

Sir  Dugald  was  savagely  angry.  In  spite  of  an  iron 
self-control,  the  cold  insolence  of  one  who  made  no  secret 
of  the  fact  that  he  regarded  the  man  before  him  as  other 
clay  was  hard  to  bear.  A  career  of  success,  consistent 
and  amazing,  had  given  Sir  Dugald  a  pretty  arrogance  of 
his  own.  And  he  was  a  very  determined  man  playing 
for  victory. 

IV 

It  was  clear  from  the  Duke's  manner  that  as  far  as 
he  was  concerned  the  interview  was  at  an  end.  But  Sir 
Dugald  had  made  up  his  mind  to  carry  the  matter  a  step 
farther.  He  was  a  bold  man,  his  position  was  stronger 

241 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


than  his  Grace  had  reason  to  guess,  moreover,  a  powerful 
will  had  been  reen  forced  by  a  growing  animosity. 

"Before  I  go,"  said  Sir  Dugald,  "there  is  one  last  word, 
and  to  me  it  seems  of  great  importance." 

The  Duke  sat  silent,  a  stony  eye  fixed  upon  his  visitor. 

"First,  let  me  say  as  one  man  of  the  world  to  another, 
that  your  objection  to  my  marrying  Lady  Muriel  is  inju- 
dicious." 

"No  doubt — from  your  point  of  view.  But  we  won't 
go  into  that." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  think  we  had  better.  As  I  say, 
it  is  injudicious.  We  have  fully  made  up  our  minds  to 
marry.  You  can't  hinder  us,  you  know — so  why  make 
things  uncomfortable?" 

"Because  I  dislike  it,  sir — I  dislike  it  intensely !"  His 
Grace  was  suddenly  overwhelmed  by  his  feelings. 

"Do  you  mind  stating  the  grounds  of  your  objection?" 

"It  would  be  tedious  to  enumerate  them." 

"Well,  I'd  like  you  to  realize  the  advantages  of  letting 
things  go  on  as  they  are." 

"There  are  none  so  far  as  one  can  see  at  the  moment." 

"We  are  coming  to  them  now,"  said  Sir  Dugald 
blandly.  "In  the  first  place,  has  it  occurred  to  you  that 
I  may  know  the  history  of  Mr.  Dinneford's  fiancee?" 

The  Duke  stared  fixedly  at  the  man  before  hina. 
"What  do  you  mean?"  he  said. 

"Suppose  one  happens  to  know  her  secret?" 

"Her  secret!" 

"Her  origin  and  early  history." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Is  there  really  any  need  to  ask  the  question?" 
242 


TIME'S  REVENGE 


The  Duke  shook  his  head  perplexedly.  "I'm  afraid 
I  don't  follow  you." 

"Well,"  said  Sir  Dugald  coolly,  "it  happens  that  you 
are  the  one  man  in  the  world  who  is  in  a  position  to 
answer  the  question  I  have  ventured  to  ask." 

They  looked  at  each  other.  A  rather  deadly  silence 
followed. 

"The  question  you  have  ventured  to  ask."  The  Duke 
repeated  the  words  slowly,  but  with  a  reluctance  and  a 
venom  he  could  not  conceal. 

"You  know  perfectly  well  what  I  mean."  The  tone, 
direct  and  cool,  was  exasperating. 

"Are  you  trying  to  blackmail  me?"  There  was  an 
ugly  light  in  the  Duke's  eyes. 

Sir  Dugald  laughed.  "Why  put  the  matter  so 
crudely?"  he  said.  "I  am  merely  anxious  that  justice 
should  be  done.  You  ought  to  be  grateful  to  Providence 
for  giving  you  this  opportunity." 

"Opportunity  ?" 

"To  right  the  wrong  that  has  been  committed." 

"I  don't  understand." 

"I  refer  to  Miss  Lawrence's  parentage." 

"One  fails  to  see  that  her  parentage  is  any  business  of 
yours  or  mine." 

"It  is  certainly  business  of  yours,"  was  the  sardonic 
answer;  "and  it  is  going  to  be  mine  because  I  am  de- 
termined that  matters  shall  take  their  present  course. 
Lady  Muriel  and  I  intend  to  marry,  and  Mr.  Dinneford 
and  Miss  Lawrence  ought  to  marry." 

The  Duke  gazed  at  him  with  an  air  of  blank  stupe- 
faction. 

"I  invite  you  to  give  the  matter  very  careful  consider- 

243 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


ation."  Sir  Dugald  had  constrained  a  harsh  accent  to 
the  point  of  mellowness.  "Let  me  say  at  once  that  if 
you  don't  withdraw  your  opposition  it  is  in  my  power 
to  make  myself  rather  unpleasant." 

"Nature  has  relieved  you  of  any  obligation  in  that 
matter.  You  are  the  most  unpleasant  man  I  have  ever 
had  to  do  with." 

"Let  me  outline  the  position."  The  mellifluous  note 
spurred  his  Grace  to  fury.  "Mr.  Dinneford  and  Miss 
Lawrence,  Lady  Muriel  and  I  are  determined  to  marry 
and  we  must  have  your  consent." 

"And  if  I  don't  give  it?"  The  tone  matched  the  trucu- 
lent eyes. 

"I  may  be  tempted  to  use  my  knowledge  in  a  way 
which  will  be  much  more  disagreeable  than  the  things 
you  wish  to  prevent." 

"Do  I  understand  this  to  be  a  threat?" 

Sir  Dugald  smiled  darkly. 

"Very  well !"  Defiance  and  resentment  rode  the  Duke 
very  hard.  "Use  your  knowledge  as  you  like.  You  are 
a  scoundrel." 

"A  hard  name."  Again  the  Duke  was  met  by  a  satur- 
nine Scottish  smile.  "But  my  motives  are  sound." 

"So  are  mine."  The  Duke's  voice  shook  with  fury. 
"If  you  are  not  careful  I  will  have  you  put  out  of  the 
house." 

"We  are  not  living  in  the  Middle  Ages,  you  know." 

"More's  the  pity.  I'd  have  found  a  short  way  with 
you  then,  my  friend.  Your  wanting  to  marry  Muriel 
is  bad  enough,  your  interference  with  Dinneford  is  an 
outrage." 

244 


TIME'S  REVENGE 


"In  the  circumstances  I  feel  it  to  be  my  duty  to  do 
what  I  can  in  an  exceedingly  delicate  matter." 

"Self-interest,  sir,  that's  all  your  duty  amounts  to." 
But  the  Duke  was  now  thoroughly  alarmed,  and  he  saw 
that  recrimination  was  not  going  to  help  him.  "Tell 
me,"  he  said*  in  a  tone  more  conciliatory  than  he  had  yet 
used,  "exactly  on  what  ground  you  are  standing?'' 

"In  the  first  place,  there  is  a  very  remarkable  family 
likeness." 

"And  you  base  your  allegation  upon  a  mere  conjec- 
ture of  that  kind !"  said  the  Duke  scornfully. 

"Upon  far  more  than  that,  believe  me.  I  have  very 
strong  and  direct  evidence  which  at  the  present  moment 
I  prefer  not  to  disclose." 

The  Duke  paused  at  this  bold  statement.  He  turned 
a  basilisk's  eye  upon  his  adversary,  but  Sir  Dugald 
offered  a  mask,  behind  which,  as  his  Grace  well  knew, 
lurked  unlimited  depth  and  cunning.  One  thing  was 
clear:  a  man  of  this  kidney  was  not  likely  to  venture 
such  a  coup  without  having  carefully  weighed  his  re- 
sources. In  any  case  there  cannot  be  smoke  unless  there 
is  fire.  A  certain  amount  of  knowledge  must  be  in  the 
possession  of  Maclean ;  the  question  was  how  much,  and 
what  use  was  he  prepared  to  make  of  it? 

"Do  I  understand,"  said  the  Duke  after  a  moment  of 
deep  thought,  "that  you  have  spoken  of  this  matter  to 
Mr.  Dinneford?" 

"I  have  not  yet  done  so." 

"Or  to  Miss  Lawrence?" 

"No — nor  to  Mrs.  Sanderson." 

The  Duke's  look  of  concentration  at  the  mention  of 
that  name  was  not  lost  upon  Sir  Dugald.  It  had  the 

245 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


effect  of  hardening  the  ironical  smile  which  for  some 
little  time  now  had  hung  round  his  lips. 

"May  I  ask  you,"  said  the  Duke  with  the  air  of  a  man 
pretty  badly  hipped,  "not  to  speak  of  this  matter  to  any- 
one until  there  has  been  an  opportunity  for  further  dis- 
cussion ?" 

The  abrupt  change  in  the  tone  confessed  a  moral  weak- 
ness which  Sir  Dugald  was  quick  to  notice.  But  he  fell 
in  with  the  suggestion,  with  a  show  of  ready  magnanimity 
for  which  the  Duke  could  have  slain  him.  There  was 
no  wish  to  cause  avoidable  unpleasantness.  Sir  Dugald 
was  good  enough  to  say  that  it  was  in  the  interests  of 
all  parties  that  the  skeleton  should  be  kept  in  the  cup- 
board. The  matter  was  bound  to  give  pain  to  a  number 
of  innocent  people,  and  if  the  Duke,  even  at  the  eleventh 
hour,  would  be  reasonable  he  might  depend  upon  it  that 
Sir  Dugald  Maclean  would  be  only  too  happy  to  follow 
his  example. 


Upon  the  retirement  of  the  unwelcome  visitor,  the 
Duke  gave  himself  up  to  a  state  of  irritation  verging  on 
fury.  Unprepared  for  this  new  turn  of  the  game,  taken 
at  a  complete  disadvantage  by  a  man  of  few  scruples 
and  diabolical  cleverness,  he  was  now  horribly  smitten  by 
a  sense  of  having  said  things  he  ought  not  to  have  said. 
On  one  point  he  was  clear.  In  the  shock  of  the  unfore- 
seen he  had  yielded  far  too  much  to  the  impact  of  a 
scoundrel. 

The  position  seen  as  a  whole  was  one  of  very  grave 
difficulty,  and  the  instinct  now  dominating  his  mind  was 
to  seek  a  port  against  a  storm  which  threatened  at  any 

246 


TIME'S  REVENGE 


moment  to  burst  upon  him.  It  was  of  vital  importance 
that  certain  facts  should  be  kept  from  certain  people; 
otherwise  there  could  be  little  doubt  thai  the  private 
cosmos  of  Albert  John,  fifth  Duke  of  Bridport,  would 
fall  about  his  ears. 

Alone  with  his  fluttered  thoughts,  the  Duke  spent  a 
bad  half-hour  trying  to  marshal  them  in  battle  array. 
Face  to  face  with  a  situation  dangerous,  disagreeable, 
unforeseen,  it  would  call  for  much  tactical  skill  to  fend 
off  disaster.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  found  it  so  hard 
to  choose  a  line  of  action.  At  last,  the  prey  of  doubt, 
he  rang  for  Harriet  Sanderson. 

She  came  to  him  at  once  and  he  told  her  promptly  of 
Sir  Dugald's  visit.  And  then,  his  eyes  on  her  face,  he 
went  on  to  tell  her  there  was  reason  to  fear  that  a  secret 
had  been  penetrated  which  he  had  always  been  led  to 
believe  was  known  only  to  her  and  to  himself. 

Watching  her  narrowly  while  he  spoke  he  saw  his 
words  go  home.  She  stood  a  picture  of  dismay. 

"I  wonder  if  the  man  really  can  know  all?"  he  said 
finally. 

At  first  she  made  no  attempt  to  answer  the  question ; 
but  after  a  while,  in  a  low,  rather  frightened  voice,  she 
said,  "I  don't  think  he  can  know  possibly." 

He  searched  her  troubled  eyes,  almost  as  if  he  doubted. 
"Perhaps  you  will  tell  me  this."  He  spoke  in  a  tone  of 
growing  anxiety.  "Would  you  say  there  is  anything  like 
a  marked  family  resemblance?" 

"A  very  strong  one,  I'm  afraid." 

"It  is  confined,  I  hope,  to  the  picture  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs?" 

"Oh,  no — at  least  to  my  mind " 

247 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"Yes?" 

"She  has  her  father's  eyes." 

"Very  interesting  to  know  that."  The  Duke  laughed, 
but  it  was  a  curious  note  in  which  there  was  not  a  grain 
of  mirth.  "Yet,  even  assuming  that  to  be  the  case,  it 
would  take  a  bold  man  to  jump  to  such  a  conclusion. 
Surely  he  would  need  better  ground  to  go  upon." 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  he  has  much  more  than  a  mere 
likeness  to  help  him."  As  Harriet  spoke  the  bright  color 
ran  from  neck  to  brow.  "He  happened  to  be  at  my 
brother-in-law's  on  the  evening  the  child  was  first 
brought  to  the  house." 

That  simple  fact  was  far  more  than  the  Duke  had 
bargained  for.  A  look  of  dismay  came  upon  him,  he 
shook  an  ominous  head.  "It  throws  a  new  light  on  the 
matter,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  painful  in  its  intensity. 
"Now  tell  me  this — did  he  see  the  child?" 

"Oh,  yes!" 

"That  helps  him  to  put  two  and  two  together  at  any 
rate."  A  look  of  tragic  concern  came  into  his  face. 
"What  an  amazing  world!" 

She  agreed  that  the  world  was  amazing.  And  in  spite 
of  the  strange  unhappiness  in  her  eyes  she  could  not  help 
smiling  a  little  as  a  surge  of  memories  came  upon  her. 
She  sighed  softly,  even  tenderly  as  she  made  the  confes- 
sion. "To  my  mind,  Sir  Dugald  Maclean  is  one  of  the 
most  amazing  men  in  it." 

"Have  you  any  particular  reason  for  saying  that?"- 
The  gaze  was  disconcerting  in  its  keenness — "apart,  I 
mean,  from  the  mere  obvious  facts  of  his  career?" 

"It  is  simply  that  I   have  watched   him   rise,"   said 

248 


TIME'S  REVENGE 


Harriet,  between  a  smile  and  a  sigh.  "When  I  knew 
him  first  he  was  a  London  policeman." 

"How  in  the  world  did  he  persuade  Scotland  Yard  to 
part  with  him?"  scoffed  his  Grace.  "One  would  have 
thought  such  a  fellow  would  have  been  worth  his  weight 
in  gold." 

She  could  not  repress  a  laugh  which  to  herself  seemed 
to  verge  on  irreverence.  "My  brother-in-law  says  he 
soon  convinced  them  he  was  far  too  ambitious  for  the 
Metropolitan  Police  Force." 

"I  should  say  so!" 

"And  then  he  studied  the  law  and  got  into  parliament." 

"And  made  his  fortune  by  backing  a  downtrodden 
people  against  a  vile  aristocracy."  The  Duke's  smile  was 
so  sour  that  it  became  a  grimace.  "In  other  words  a 
self-made  man." 

"Oh,  yes — entirely!"  The  sudden  generous  warmth 
of  admiration  in  Harriet's  tone  surprised  the  Duke. 
"When  one  considers  the  enormous  odds  against  him  and 
what  he  has  been  able  to  do  at  the  age  of  forty-two, 
it  seems  only  right  to  think  of  him  as  wonderful." 

"Personally,"  said  his  Grace,  "I  prefer  to  regard  him 
as  an  unscrupulous  scoundrel." 

Harriet  dissented  with  a  smile.  "A  great  man,"  she 
said  softly. 

"Let  us  leave  it  at  a  very  dangerous  man.  He  is  a 
real  menace,  not  only  to  us,  but  to  the  country.  Anyhow, 
we  have  now  to  see  that  he  doesn't  bring  down  the 
house  about  our  ears." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  that  swept  the  color 
from  Harriet's  face.  "That  I  realize."  Her  voice 
trembled  painfully.  "Oh,  I  do  hope  he  has  not  men- 

249 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


tioned  the  matter  to  Mary."  And  she  plucked  at  her 
dress  in  sudden  alarm. 

"Not  yet,  I  think,"  said  the  Duke  venomously.  "He 
is  too  sure  a  hand  to  spring  his  mine  before  the  time 
is  ripe.  Meanwhile  we  are  forearmed ;  let  us  take  every 
precaution  against  him." 

"Oh,  yes,  we  must!"     Her  eyes  were  tragic. 

"A  devilish  mischance,"  said  the  Duke  slowly,  "a  devil- 
ish mischance  that  he,  of  all  men,  has  been  able  to  hit 
the  trail." 

VI 

When  Harriet  had  gone  from  the  room,  the  Duke 
surrendered  again  to  his  thoughts.  By  now  they  were 
almost  intolerable.  Pulled  this  way  and  that  by  a  con- 
flict of  emotion  that  was  cruel,  he  was  brought  more  than 
once  to  the  verge  of  a  decision  he  had  not  the  courage  to 
make.  The  situation  was  forcing  it  upon  him,  yet  so 
much  was  involved,  so  much  was  at  stake  that  a  weak 
man  at  bottom,  he  was  ready  to  grasp  at  anything  which 
held  a  slender  hope  of  putting  off  the  evil  day.  Two 
interests  were  vitally  opposed ;  he  sought  to  do  justice  to 
both,  yet  as  far  as  he  could  see  at  the  moment,  any 
reconciliation  between  them  was  impossible. 

He  was  in  a  state  of  bitter,  ever-growing  embarrass- 
ment, when  Jack  was  unexpectedly  announced. 

His  Grace  was  not  able  to  detach  himself  sufficiently 
from  the  maelstrom  within  to  observe  the  hue  of  resolu- 
tion in  the  bearing  of  a  rather  unwelcome  visitor. 

"Good  morning,  sir,"  said  the  young  man  coolly,  with 
an  aloofness  that  came  near  to  sarcasm.  And  then  in 
a  tone  of  very  simple  matter  of  fact,  he  said,  "I  have 

250 


TIME'S  REVENGE 


merely  called  to  ask  if  you  will  give  a  formal  consent  to 
my  marrying  Mary  Lawrence." 

From  the  particular  way  in  which  the  question  was 
put  it  was  easy  to  deduce  an  ultimatum.  But  it  came  at 
an  unlucky  moment.  So  delicately  was  the  Duke  poised 
between  two  contending  forces,  that  a  point-blank  de- 
mand was  quite  enough  to  turn  the  scale.  His  Grace 
replied  at  ence  that  he  was  not  in  a  position  to  give 
consent. 

Jack  was  prepared  for  a  refusal.  The  nature  of  the 
case  had  made  it  seem  inevitable.  But  there  and  then 
he  issued  a  ukase.  His  kinsman  should  have  a  week  in 
which  to  think  over  the  matter.  And  if  in  that  time  the 
Duke  did  not  change  his  mind  he  would  return  to  Canada. 

The  threat  was  taken  very  coolly,  but  his  Grace  was 
far  more  concerned  by  it  than  he  allowed  Jack  to  see. 
In  fact,  he  was  very  much  annoyed.  Here  was  an  end 
to  the  plan  which  had  been  formed  for  the  general 
welfare  of  Bridport  House.  Such  conduct  was  incon- 
siderate, tiresome,  irrational.  But  it  was  not  merely  the 
inconvenience  it  was  bound  to  cause  which  was  so 
troublesome.  There  was  still  the  other  aspect  of  the 
case.  He  could  not  rid  himself  of  the  feeling  that  a 
cruel  injustice  was  being  done  to  an  innocent  and  de- 
fenseless person,  and  that  the  whole  blame  of  it  must  lie 
at  his  own  door. 

He  had  been  given  a  week  in  which  to  think  the  matter 
over,  in  which  to  examine  it  in  all  its  bearings.  Just 
now  he  was  not  in  a  mood  to  urge  the  least  objection  to 
Jack's  departure;  all  the  same  one  frankly  an  autocrat 
resented  it  deeply.  Let  the  fellow  go  and  be  damned  to 
him!  But  in  spite  of  the  philosophic  air  with  which  he 

251 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


sent  the  young  fool  about  his  business,  his  Grace  realized 
,as  soon  as  he  was  alone  that  it  was  quite  impossible  to 
shut  his  eyes  to  certain  facts.  Vital  issues  were  involved 
and  it  was  no  use  shirking  them.  Even  if  he  had  now 
made  up  his  mind  to  steel  his  heart  against  gross  and 
rather  brutal  injustice,  so  that  the  common  weal  might 
prosper,  nothing  could  alter  the  human  aspect  of  a  matter 
that  galled  him  bitterly. 


CHAPTER  XI 
A  BOMB 


IT  is  a  bad  business,  no  doubt,  when  a  statesman 
stoops  to  sentiment.  Unluckily  for  the  Duke,  now 
that  a  brain  cool  and  clear  was  needed  in  a  critical 
hour,  it  had  become  miserably  overclouded  by  a  sense  of 
chivalry.  It  was  very  inconvenient.  Never  in  his  life 
had  he  found  a  decision  so  hard  to  reach,  and  even  when 
it  had  been  arrived  at  he  could  not  dismiss  the  girl  from 
his  mind.  She  had  impressed  him  in  such  a  remarkable 
way  that  it  was  impossible  to  forget  her. 

Beyond  all  things  a  man  of  the  world,  one  fact  stood 
out  with  exemplary  clearness.  If  this  girl  could  have 
been  taken  upon  her  merits  she  would  have  been  an 
almost  ideal  mate  for  the  heir  to  Bridport  House.  She 
had  shown  such  a  delicate  regard  for  his  welfare,  so  right 
had  been  her  feeling  in  the  whole  affair,  that,  even  apart 
from  mere  justice,  it  seemed  wrong  to  exclude  her  from 
a  circle  she  could  not  fail  to  grace.  In  the  matter  of 
Bridport  House  her  instinct  was  so  divinely  right  that 
no  girl  in  the  land  was  more  naturally  fitted  to  help  a 
tiro  through  his  novitiate. 

A  sad  coil  truly !  And  Jack  had  gone  but  a  very  few 
253 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


, minutes,  when  the  matter  took  another  and  wholly  unex- 
pected turn.  The  prelude  to  a  historic  incident  was  the 
appearance  of  Sarah  on  the  scene. 

The  eldest  flower,  the  light  of  battle  in  her  gray  eyes, 
was  plainly  bent  on  mischief.  So  much  was  clear  as 
soon  as  she  came  into  the  room.  She  had  not  been  able 
to  forgive  her  father  for  revoking  Mrs.  Sanderson's 
notice.  It  had  been  a  wanton  dashing  of  the  cup  from 
lips  but  little  used  to  victory;  and  the  act  had  served 
to  embitter  a  situation  which  by  now  was  almost  unbear- 
able. 

Sarah  had  come  of  fell  purpose,  but  before  playing  her 
great  coup,  she  opened  lightly  in  the  manner  of  a  skirm- 
isher. Muriel,  it  seemed,  was  the  topic  that  had  brought 
her  there;  at  any  rate,  it  was  the  topic  on  which  she 
began,  masking  with  some  astuteness  the  one  so  much 
more  sinister  that  lay  behind. 

"Father,  I  suppose  you  know  that  Muriel  has  quite 
made  up  her  mind  to  get  married?" 

"So  I  gather."  Detachment  could  hardly  have  been 
carried  farther. 

"Such  a  pity,"  Sarah  lightly  pursued,  "but  I'm  afraid 
there's  nothing  to  be  done.  She  was  always  obstinate." 

"Always  a  fool,"  muttered  his  Grace. 

"I've  been  discussing  the  matter  with  Aunt  Charlotte." 

The  Duke  nodded,  but  his  portentdus  eyes  asked  Sarah 
not  to  claim  one  moment  more  of  his  time  than  the  cir- 
cumstances rendered  absolutely  necessary. 

"Aunt  Charlotte  feels  very  strongly  that  it  will  be  wise 
for  you  to  give  your  consent." 

"Why?"  The  Duke  yawned,  but  the  look  in  his  face 
was  not  of  the  kind  that  goes  with  mere  boredom.  "Any 

254 


A  BOMB 

specific  ground  for  the  suggestion?"    He  scanned  Sarah 
narrowly,  with  heavily-lidded  eyes. 

"On  general  grounds  only,  I  believe." 

The  Duke  was  more  than  a  little  relieved,  but  he  was 
content  to  express  the  fact  by  transferring  his  gaze  to 
the  book-rest  in  front  of  him. 

"She  thinks  it  will  be  in  the  interests  of  everyone  to 
make  the  best  of  a  most  tiresome  and  humiliating  busi- 
ness. And,  after  all,  he  is  certain  to  be  Prime  Minister 
within  the  next  ten  years." 

"Who  tells  you  that?" 

"Last  night  at  dinner  I  met  Harry  Truscott,  and  that's 
his  prediction.  He  says  Sir  Dugald  Maclean  is  the  big 
serpent  that  swallows  all  the  little  serpents." 

"Uncommonly  true!"  His  Grace  made  a  wry  mouth. 
"Still,  that's  hardly  a  reason  why  we  should  receive  the 
reptile  here." 

"No,  of  course.  I  quite  agree.  But  Aunt  Charlotte 
thinks  there  is  nothing  to  gain  by  standing  out.  Muriel 
has  quite  made  up  her  foolish  mind.  So  the  digni- 
fied thing  seems  to  be  to  make  the  best  of  a  miserable 
business." 

"It  may  be,"  said  his  Grace.  "But  personally  I  should 
be  grateful  if  Charlotte  would  mind  her  own  affairs." 

The  tone  implied  quite  definitely  that  he  had  no  wish 
to  pursue  the  topic;  nay,  it  even  invited  Sarah  to  make 
an  end  of  their  talk  and  to  go  away  as  soon  as  possible. 
Clearly  he  was  far  from  understanding  that  it  was  little 
more  than  a  red  herring  across  the  trail  of  a  sinister 
intention.  But  the  fact  was  revealed  to  him  by  her  next 
remarks. 

255 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"Oh,  by  the  way,  father,"  she  said  casually,  or  at  least 
With  a  lightness  of  tone  that  was  misleading,  "there's  one 
other  matter.  I've  been  thinking  the  situation  out." 

"Situation!"  groped  his  Grace. 

"That  has  been  created."  Sarah's  tone  was  almost 
Infantile — "by  your  insisting  that  Mrs.  Sanderson  should 
stay  on." 

"Well,  what  of  it,  what  of  it?" 

"It  simply  makes  the  whole  thing  impossible."  Sarah 
had  achieved  the  voice  of  the  dove.  "So  long  as  this 
woman  remains  in  the  house  one  feels  that  one  cannot 
stay  here." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because" — Sarah  fixed  a  deliberate  eye  on  the  face 
of  her  sire — "neither  Aunt  Charlotte  nor  I  think  that  the 
present  arrangement  is  quite  seemly." 

ii 

The  attack  had  been  neatly  launched,  and  she  saw  by 
the  look  on  her  father's  face  that  it  had  gone  right  home. 
She  was  a  slow-witted,  rather  crass  person,  with  a  kind 
of  heavy  conceit  of  her  own,  but  like  all  the  other  Dinne- 
ford  ladies,  at  close  quarters  she  was  formidable.  The, 
button  was  off  her  foil.  It  was  her  intention  to  wound. 
And  at  the  instant  she  struck,  his  Grace  was  unpleasantly 
aware  of  that  fact. 

"What  d'ye  mean  ?"     It  was  his  recoil  from  the  stroke. 

"I  have  talked  over  the  matter  with  Aunt  Charlotte. 
She  agrees  with  me  that  the  present  arrangement  is  quite 
hopeless.  And  she  thinks  that  as  you  are  unwilling  for 

256 


A  BOMB 

Mrs.  Sanderson  to  be  sent  away,  the  only  course  for 
Blanche,  Marjorie,  and  myself  is  to  leave  the  house." 

The  face  of  her  father  grew  a  shade  paler,  but  for  the 
moment  that  was  the  only  expression  of  the  inward  fury. 
He  saw  at  once  that  the  dull  fool  who  dared  to  beard 
him  was  no  more  than  a  cat's-paw  of  the  arch-schemer. 
The  mine  was  Charlotte's,  even  if  fired  by  a  hand  infin- 
itely less  cunning. 

"Is  this  a  threat?"  The  surge  of  his  rage  was  hard 
to  control. 

"You  leave  us  no  alternative,"  said  Sarah  doughtily. 
"Aunt  Charlotte  thinks  in  the  circumstances  we  shall  be 
fully  justified  in  going  to  live  with  her.  I  think  so,  too ; 
and  I  don't  doubt  that  Blanche  and  Marjorie  will  see  the 
matter  in  the  same  light." 

"What  do  you  think  you  will  gain  ?"  His  voice  shook 
with  far  more  than  vexation.  "The  proposal  simply 
amounts  to  the  washing  of  dirty  linen  in  public." 

"There  is  such  a  thing  as  personal  dignity,  father," 
said  Sarah  in  her  driest  tone. 

"No  doubt;  but  how  you  are  going  to  serve  it  by 
dancing  to  the  piping  of  Charlotte  I  can't  for  the  life  of 
me  see." 

Sarah,  however,  could  see  something  else.  The  blow 
had  met  already  with  some  success.  And  she  was  fully 
determined  to  follow  up  a  first  advantage. 

"Well,  father" — her  words  were  of  warriorlike  con- 
ciseness— "if  you  still  insist  on  Mrs.  Sanderson's  presence 
here,  that  is  the  course  we  intend  to  take." 

"Oh !"  A  futile  monosyllable,  yet  at  that  moment  full 
of  meaning. 

257 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


in 

The  ultimatum  delivered,  Sarah  promptly  retired. 
She  took  away  from  the  interview  a  pleasing  conscious- 
ness that  the  honors  were  with  her.  And  this  sense  of 
nascent  victory  had  not  grown  less  by  half-past  one  when 
she  reached  Hill  Street  in  time  to  lunch  with  Aunt  Char- 
lotte. 

It  was  a  rather  cheerless  and  ascetic  meal,  but  both 
ladies  were  in  such  excellent  righting  trim  that  the 
meagerness  of  the  fare  didn't  matter.  Sarah  was  sure 
that  she  had  scored  heavily.  A  well-planted  bomb  had 
wrought  visible  confusion  in  the  ranks  of  the  foe.  "He 
sees  that  it  places  him  in  a  most  awkward  position,"  was 
her  summary  for  the  grim  ears  of  the  arch-plotter. 

"One  knew  it  would."  There  were  times  when  Aunt 
Charlotte  had  a  striking  personal  resemblance  to  Moltke ; 
and  just  now,  beyond  a  doubt,  she  bore  an  uncanny  like- 
ness to  that  successful  Prussian. 

"He  hates  the  idea  of  what  he  calls  washing  dirty  linen 
in  public." 

"Lacks  moral  courage  as  usual."  The  remark  was 
made  in  an  undertone  to  the  coal-scuttle. 

"I  hope ."  But  Sarah  suddenly  bit  off  the  end  of 

her  sentence.  After  all,  there  are  things  one  cannot 
discuss. 

"You  hope  what?"  The  eye  of  Aunt  Charlotte  fixed 
her  like  a  kite. 

"No  need  to  say  what  one  hopes,"  said  Sarah  dourly. 

"I  agree."  Aunt  Charlotte  took  a  sip  of  hot  water  and 
munched  a  peptonized  biscuit  with  a  kind  of  savage  glee. 
"But  we  have  to  remember  that  the  ice  is  very  thin.  One 

258 


A  BOMB 

has  always  felt  that — well,  you  know  what  one  means. 
One  has  felt  sometimes  that  your  father  ..." 

Sarah  agreed.  For  more  years  than  she  cared  to  re- 
member she  .  .  . 

"Quite  so,"  Aunt  Charlotte  took  another  biscuit. 
"And  everybody  must  know.  .  .  .  However,  the  time 
has  now  come  to  make  an  end." 

"I  am  sure  it  has,"  said  Sarah. 

"Still  we  are  playing  it  up  very  high,"  said  the  great 
tactician.  "And  we  shall  do  well  to  remember  .  .  ." 

"I  agree,"  said  Sarah  cryptically. 

Misgiving  they  might  have,  but  just  now  the  uppermost 
feeling  was  pride  in  their  work  and  a  secret  satisfaction. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  blow  had  gone  home. 
At  last  they  had  taken  the  measure  of  his  Grace,  they 
had  found  his  limit,  the  point  had  been  reached  beyond 
which  he  would  not  go. 

"An  fond  a  coward,"  Aunt  Charlotte  affirmed  once 
more,  for  the  benefit  of  the  coal-scuttle.  And  then  for 
the  benefit  of  Sarah,  with  a  ring  of  triumph,  "Always 
sets  too  high  a  value  on  public  opinion,  my  dear." 

Such  being  the  case  the  conspirators  had  every  right 
to  congratulate  themselves.  And  as  if  to  confirm  their 
victory,  there  came  presently  by  telephone  a  most  urgent 
message  from  Mount  Street.  Charlotte  was  to  go  round 
at  once. 

"There,  what  did  I  tell  you !"  said  that  lady.  And  she 
sublimely  ordered  her  chariot. 

IV 

Enroute  to  Bridport  House,  the  redoutable  Charlotte 
did  not  allow  herself  to  question  that  the  foe  was  at  the 

259 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


point  of  hauling  down  the  flag.  His  hurry  to  do  so  was  a 
little  absurd,  but  it  was  so  like  him  to  throw  up  the  sponge 
at  the  mere  threat  of  publicity.  This  indecent  haste  to 
come  to  terms  deepened  a  contempt  which  had  lent  a 
grim  enjoyment  to  a  long  hostility. 

However,  the  reception  in  store  for  her  ladyship  in  the 
smaller  library  did  much  to  modify  her  views.  She  was 
received  by  her  brother  with  an  air  of  menace  which  al- 
most verged  upon  truculence. 

"Charlotte" — there  was  a  boldness  of  attack  for  which 
she  was  by  no  means  prepared — "the  time  has  now  come 
to  make  an  end  of  this  comedy." 

She  fully  agreed,  yet  the  sixth  sense  given  to  woman 
found  occasion  to  warn  her  that  she  didn't  know  in  the 
least  to  what  she  was  agreeing. 

"You  would  have  it  so,  you  know." 

He  was  asked  succinctly  to  explain. 

"Well,  it's  a  long  story."  Already  there  was  a  note  in 
the  mordant  voice  which  his  sister  heard  for  the  first 
time.  "A  long,  a  strange,  and  if  you  will,  a  romantic 
story.  And  let  me  say  that  it  is  by  no  wish  of  my  own 
that  I  tell  it.  However,  Fate  is  stronger  than  we  are 
in  these  little  matters,  and  no  doubt  wiser." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Charlotte  drily.  But  somehow  that 
note  in  his  voice  made  her  uneasy,  and  the  look  in  his 
face  seemed  to  hold  her  every  nerve  in  a  vise.  "You  are 
speaking  in  riddles,  my  friend,"  she  added  with  a  little 
flutter  of  impatience. 

"It  may  be  so,  but  before  I  go  on  I  want  you  clearly 
to  understand  that  it  is  you,  not  I,  who  insist  on  bring- 
ing the  roof  down  upon  us." 

Charlotte's  only  reply  was  to  sit  very  upright,  with 
260 


A  BOMB 

her  sarcastic  mouth  drawn  in  a  rigid  line.  She  could  not 
understand  in  the  least  what  her  brother  was  driving 
at,  but  in  his  manner  was  a  new,  a  strange  intensity  which 
somehow  gave  her  a  feeling  of  profound  discomfort. 

"You  don't  realize  what  you  are  doing,"  he  said. 
"Still  you  are  not  to  blame  for  that.  But  the  time  has 
come  to  pull  aside  the  curtain,  and  to  let  you  know  what 
we  all  owe  a  woman  who  has  been  cruelly  maligned." 

Charlotte  stiffened  perceptibly  at  these  words.  After 
all,  the  case  was  no  more  and  no  less  than  for  more 
than  twenty  years  she  had  known  it  to  be.  Still  open 
confession  was  good  for  the  soul!  It  was  a  sordid 
intrigue,  an  intrigue  of  a  nature  which  simply  made  her 
loathe  the  man  opposite.  How  dare  he — and  with  a 
servant  in  his  own  house!  If  looks  could  have  slain, 
his  Grace  would  have  been  spared  the  necessity  to  con- 
tinue a  very  irksome  narrative. 

"Make  provision  for  her  and  send  her  away."  The 
sharp  voice  was  like  the  crack  of  a  gun. 

The  Duke  raised  himself  slowly  and  painfully  on  his 
elbows.  "Hold  your  tongue,"  he  said.  And  his  eyes 
struck  at  her.  "Be  good  enough  to  forgo  all  comment 
until  you  have  heard  the  whole  story." 

It  was  trying  Charlotte  highly,  but  she  set  herself  de- 
terminedly to  listen. 

"Do  you  remember  when  she  first  came  here,  as  second 
maid  to  poor  Rachel,  a  fine,  upstanding,  gray-eyed  Scots 
girl,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  creatures  you  ever  saw? 
Do  you  remember  her  devotion?  No,  I  see  you  have 
forgotten."  He  closed  his  eyes  for  an  instant,  while  the 
woman  opposite  kept  hers  fixed  steadily  upon  him. 
"Well,  I  don't  excuse  myself.  But  Rachel  and  I  were 

261 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


never  happy;  the  plain  truth  is  we  ought  not  to  have 
married.  It  was  a  family  arrangement  and  it  recoiled 
upon  us.  The  Paringtons  are  an  effete  lot  and  the  same 
can  be  said  of  us  Dinnefords.  Nature  asked  for  some- 
thing else." 

Now  that  he  had  unlocked  the  doors  of  memory  a 
growing  emotion  became  too  much  for  the  Duke,  and  for 
a  moment  he  could  not  go  on.  His  sister,  in  the  mean- 
time, continued  to  hold  him  with  pitiless  eyes. 

"One  might  say,"  he  went  on,  "that  it  was  the  call 
of  the  blood.  I  remember  her  first  as  the  factor's 
daughter,  a  long-legged  creature  in  a  red  tam-o'-shanter, 
running  about  the  woods  of  Ardnaleuchan.  You  haven't 
forgotten  Donald  Sanderson,  the  father?" 

"No,  I  haven't  forgotten  him,"  said  Charlotte. 

"That  was  a  fine  fellow.  'Man  Donald'  as  our  father 
used  to  call  him,  helped  me  to  stalk  my  first  stag.  We 
ranged  the  woods  together  days  on  end.  I  sometimes 
think  I  owe  more  to  that  man  than  to  any  other  human 
being." 

Again  he  was  silent,  but  the  eyes  of  his  sister  never 
left  his  face. 

"Yes,  it  was  the  call  of  the  blood."  He  sighed  as  he 
passed  his  handkerchief  over  his  face  which  was  now 
gray  and  glistening.  "As  I  say,  Rachel  and  I  ought 
not  to  have  married;  we  didn't  suit  each  other.  Our 
marriage  was  a  family  arrangement.  It  had  almost 
ceased  to  be  tolerable  long  before  the  end,  but  we  kept 
our  compact  as  well  as  we  could,  for  we  were  deter- 
mined that  other  people  should  not  suffer.  And  then 
came  Rachel's  long  illness,  and  the  girl's  wonderful  de- 
votion— do  you  remember  how  Rachel  would  rather  have 

262 


A  BOMB 

her  with  her  than  any  of  the  nurses?    And  then  she 
died,  and  of  course  that  altered  everything." 

Lady  Wargrave  sat  as  if  carved  out  of  stone,  her  eyes 
still  upon  the  bleak  face  of  the  invalid.  "Is  that  all?" 
she  said. 

"No,  it  is  not.     There's  more  to  tell." 

"Tell  it  then  so  that  we  may  have  done  with  it."  Char- 
lotte's voice  quivered. 

"Very  well,  since  you  insist."  The  softness  of  the 
tone  was  surprising,  yet  to  Charlotte  it  said  nothing. 
"Rachel  died  and  everything,  as  I  say,  was  altered.  'Man 
Donald's'  daughter  became  the  only  woman  who  ever 
really  meant  anything  to  me.  Somehow  I  felt  I  couldn't 
do  without  her.  And  to  make  an  end  of  a  long  and 
tedious  story,  finally  I  married  her." 

"You  married  her!"  Lady  Wargrave  sat  as  if  she 
had  swallowed  a  poker. 

"Yes,  but  before  doing  so  I  made  a  condition.  Things 
were  to  go  on  as  they  were,  provided  ..." 

".  .  .  provided!"  Excitement  fought  curiosity  in 
Charlotte's  angry  voice. 

".     .     .     she  didn't  bring  a  boy  into  the  world." 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  understand."  Charlotte's  voice 
cracked  in  the  middle. 

"It  was  quite  a  simple  arrangement,  and  in  the  cir- 
cumstances it  seemed  the  best.  So  long  as  there  was  no 
man  child  to  complicate  the  thing  unduly,  the  world 
was  to  be  kept  out  of  our  secret.  At  the  time  it  seemed 
wise  and  right  to  do  that.  Otherwise  it  would  have 
meant  a  fearful  upset  for  everybody." 

"Is  one  to  understand,"  gasped  Charlotte,  "that  when 
Rachel  died  you  actually  married  this — this  woman?" 

263 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


The  Duke  nodded.  "But  I  made  the  condition  that 
our  secret  should  be  rigidly  guarded — always  assuming 
that  Fate  did  not  prove  too  much  for  us.  She  went 
to  the  little  house  on  the  river  at  Buntisford,  where 
I  used  to  go  for  the  fishing  and  shooting.  And  she  gave 
me  ten  years  of  happiness — the  only  happiness  I  have 
known.  And  then  came  my  breakdown,  since  when  she 
has  nursed  me  with  more  than  a  wife's  devotion."  His 
voice  failed  suddenly  and  he  lay  back  in  his  chair  with 
closed  eyes. 

It  was  left  to  Charlotte  to  break  the  irksome  silence 
that  followed. 

"How  could  you  be  so  mad!"  She  spoke  under  her 
breath  not  intending  her  words  to  be  heard,  but  a  quick 
ear  caught  them. 

"Nay,"  he  said  in  the  tone  that  was  so  new  to  her, 
"it  was  the  only  thing  to  do.  It  was  the  call  of  the 
blood.  And  this  was  a  devoted  woman,  a  woman  one 
could  trust  implicitly." 

"Madness,  my  friend,  madness!" 

He  shook  his  head  somberly.  "All  life  is  a  madness, 
if  you  will  a  divine  madness.  It  is  a  madness  that  damns 
the  consequences.  By  taking  too  much  thought  for  the 
morrow  we  entomb  ourselves.  When  Rachel  died  life 
meant  for  me  the  woman  of  my  choice.  And,  Charlotte, 
let  me  say  this" — he  raised  himself  in  his  chair  and 
looked  at  his  sister  fixedly — "she  is  the  best  woman  I 
have  ever  known." 

For  a  moment  she  sat  a  picture  of  bewilderment,  and 
then  in  a  voice  torn  with  emotion  she  said,  "Out  of  re- 
gard for  the  others  things  had  better  go  on  as  they  are. 

264 


A  BOMB 

But  perhaps  you  will  tell  me,  are  there  any  children  of 
this  marriage?" 

"There  is  one  child." 

Charlotte  caught  her  breath  sharply. 

"A  girl.  And  in  accordance  with  our  compact  she 
has  been  brought  up  in  complete  ignorance  of  her  pa- 
ternity. It  seemed  wise  that  she  should  know  nothing. 
Her  mother  had  her  reared  among  her  own  people,  be- 
cause it  was  her  mother's  express  wish  that  the  children 
of  the  first  marriage  should  suffer  no  prejudice;  and  at 
the  present  time  neither  the  girl  herself  nor  the  world 
at  large  is  any  the  wiser." 

Charlotte  began  to  breathe  a  little  more  freely.  "At 
all  events,"  she  said,  "that  fact  seems  to  confirm  one's 
opinion  that  things  had  better  go  on  as  they  are." 

But  her  brother  continued  to  gaze  at  her  with  somber 
eyes.  "Charlotte,"  he  said  very  slowly,  "you  have  forced 
me  to  tell  a  story  I  had  hoped  would  never  be  told  in 
my  lifetime.  I  have  had  to  suffer  your  suspicions,  but 
now  that  you  are  in  the  secret,  you  must  share  its  re- 
sponsibilities." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Lady  Wargrave  bluntly. 

"I  will  explain.  A  horrible  injustice  has  been  done 
this  girl,  the  child  of  the  second  marriage.  So  much 
is  clear  to  you,  no  doubt?" 

Lady  Wargrave's  only  reply  was  to  tighten  her  lips. 

"You  wish  me  to  be  still  more  explicit?" 

She  invited  him  to  be  so. 

"Well,  as  far  as  I  can  I  will  be."  His  air  was  simple 
matter  of  fact.  "But  I  warn  you  that  we  are  now  at 
the  point  where  we  have  to  realize  that  Fate  is  so  much 
stronger  than  ourselves." 

265 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


A  momentary  hesitation  drew  a  harsh,  "Go  on,  let  me 
hear  the  worst." 

"Can't  you  guess  who  this  girl  is?"  he  said  abruptly. 

"Pray,  why  should  one?" 

"She  is  the  girl  Jack  wants  to  marry." 

A  long  silence  followed  this  announcement.  It  would 
have  been  kind  perhaps  had  he  helped  his  sister  to  break 
it,  but  a  clear  perception  of  the  first  thought  in  her  mind 
had  raised  a  barrier.  With  a  patience  that  was  half- 
malicious  he  waited  for  a  speech  that  he  knew  was  bound 
to  come. 

"It  was  to  have  been  expected,"  she  said  at  last  with 
something  perilously  like  a  snarl  of  subdued  anger. 

"Why  expected  ?"  They  were  the  words  for  which  he 
had  waited,  and  he  seized  them  promptly. 

"She  has  been  too  much  for  you,  my  friend." 

"Whom  do  you  mean? 

"The  mother,  of  course.  She  has  planned  this  mar- 
riage so  that  she  might  be  revenged  upon  us  here." 

He  was  quite  ready  to  do  Charlotte  the  justice  of  allow- 
ing that  it  was  the  only  view  she  was  likely  to  hold.  The 
pressure  of  mere  facts  was  too  heavy.  Words  of  his 
would  be  powerless  against  them;  and  yet  he  was  de- 
termined to  use  every  means  at  his  command  to  clear 
that  suspicion  from  her  mind. 

"I  hope  you  will  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  she  is 
entirely  innocent,"  he  said  in  a  voice  of  sudden  emotion. 

Charlotte  slowly  shook  her  head,  but  it  was  a  gesture 
of  defeat.  She  was  beyond  malice  now. 

"Charlotte,  I  give  you  my  word  that  she  had  no  part 
in  it." 

266 


A  BOMB 

His  sister  looked  at  him  pityingly.     "It  is  impossible 
to  believe  that,"  she  said  without  bitterness. 

"So  I  see.     But  it  is  my  duty  to  convince  you." 
For  a  moment  he  fought  a  growing  emotion,  and  then 
his  mind  suddenly  made  up,  he  pressed  the  button  of  the 
electric  bell  that  was  near  his  elbow. 


The  familar  summons  was  answered  by  Harriet  her- 
self. As  she  came  into  the  room  her  rather  scared  eyes 
were  caught  at  once  by  the  profile  of  the  dowager.  But 
the  reception  in  store  for  her  was  far  from  being  of 
the  kind  she  had  reason  to  expect,  for  which  she  had 
had  too  little  time  to  prepare. 

To  begin  with  Lady  Wargrave  rose  to  receive  her. 
And  that  stately  and  considered  act  was  supplemented 
by  the  simple  words  of  the  Duke. 

"She  knows  everything,"  he  said  from  the  depths  of 
his  invalid  chair,  without  a  suspicion  of  theatricality. 

Harriet,  all  the  color  struck  from  her  face,  shrank  back, 
a  picture  of  horror  and  timidity. 

"Sit  down,  my  dear,  and  let  us  hold  a  little  family 
council."  That  note  of  intimacy  and  affection  was  so 
strange  in  Charlotte's  ear,  that  it  hit  her  almost  as  hard 
as  the  previous  words  had  hit  the  wife  of  his  bosom. 
However,  the  two  ladies  sat,  and  the  Duke  with  a  non- 
chalance that  hardly  seemed  credible,  went  on  in  a 
quietly  domestic  voice,  as  he  turned  to  Harriet  again. 
"We  shall  value  your  help  and  advice,  if  you  feel  in- 
clined to  give  it,  in  this  matter  of  Mary  and  the  young 
man  Dinneford." 

At  this  amazing  speech  Lady  Wargrave  stirred  un- 
267 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


easily  on  her  cushion  of  thorns.  She  breathed  hard,  her 
mordant  mouth  grew  set,  in  her  grim  eyes  were  unutter- 
able things. 

"One  moment,  Johnnie,"  she  interposed.  "Does  Mrs. 
— er  Sanderson  quite  understand  what  it  means  to  us  ?" 

"Perfectly,"  he  said,  "no  one  better."  The  depth  of 
the  tone  expressed  far  more  than  those  dry  words.  "It 
may  help  matters,"  he  added,  turning  to  Harriet  again, 
"if  I  say  at  once  that  we  are  going  to  ask  you  to  make 
two  decisions  in  the  name  of  the  people  you  have  served 
so  long  and  so  faithfully.  And  the  first  is  this :  Since, 
as  you  will  see  I  have  been  forced,  much  against  my  will, 
to  let  a  third  person  into  our  secret,  you  have  now  the 
opportunity  of  taking  your  true  position  in  the  sight  of 
the  world." 

Lady  Wargrave  shivered.  Somehow  this  was  a  turn 
of  the  game  she  had  not  been  able  to  foresee. 

"That  is  to  say,"  the  Duke  went  on,  "you  have  now, 
as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  full  liberty  to  assume  your  true 
style  and  dignity  as  mistress  here.  For  more  than  twenty 
years  you  have  sacrificed  yourself  for  others,  but  the 
time  has  now  come  when  you  need  do  so  no  longer. 
What  do  you  say?" 

Harriet  did  not  speak.  Lady  Wargrave  was  silent 
also,  but  a  kind  of  stony  horror  was  freezing  her.  The 
whole  situation  had  become  so  fantastic  that  she  felt  the 
inadequacy  of  her  emotions. 

"You  shall  have  a  perfectly  free  hand,"  the  Duke  went 
on.  "Assume  your  position  now,  and  good  care  shall 
be  taken  that  you  are  amply  maintained  in  it.  What  do 
you  say,  my  dear?"  he  added  gently. 

268 


A  BOMB 

Tears  were  melting  her  now,  and  she  was  unable  to 
speak. 

"Well,  think  it  over,"  said  his  Grace.  "And  be  as- 
sured that  whichever  course  you  take,  it  will  be  the  right 
one.  We  owe  you  more  than  we  can  repay.  However, 
that  is  only  one  issue,  and  there  is  another,  which  is 
hardly  less  important." 

Lady  Wargrave  stirred  again  on  her  cushion.  For  a 
moment  there  was  not  a  sound  to  be  heard  in  the  room. 

"You  see,"  the  Duke  went  on,  "I've  been  giving 
anxious  thought  to — to  this  girl  of  ours.  And  I  really 
don't  see,  having  regard  to  all  the  circumstances,  why 
justice  should  any  longer  be  denied  her.  No  matter  who 
the  man  is,  he  is  lucky  to  get  her.  And,  as  I  understand, 
they  are  a  very  devoted  couple." 

"Oh,  yes,  they  are!"  The  words  were  Harriet's  and 
they  were  uttered  in  a  tone  broken  by  emotion. 

"Well,  you  shall  make  the  decision,"  he  said.  "You 
know,  of  course,  how  the  matter  stands."  Harriet 
bowed  her  head  in  assent,  and  his  Grace  turned  an  eye 
bright  with  malice  upon  the  Dowager.  "You  see,  Char- 
lotte, this  girl  of  ours,  brought  up  in  a  very  humble 
way,  and  left  to  fight  her  own  battle,  under  the  provi- 
dence of  the  good  God,  absolutely  declines  to  come 
among  us  unless  she  has  the  full  and  free  consent  of  the 
head  of  the  clan.  So  far  that  consent  has  not  been  given, 
and  if  in  the  course  of  the  next  week  it  is  not  forth- 
coming, the  young  man  Dinneford  threatens  to  return 
to  Canada." 

"I  see."  The  walls  of  Charlotte's  world  had  fallen  in, 
her  deepest  feelings  had  been  outraged,  but  she  was  still 
perfect  mistress  of  herself.  She  turned  her  hard  eyes 

269 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


upon  Harriet,  but  in  them  now  was  a  look  very  differ- 
ent from  the  one  that  had  been  wont  to  regard  the  house- 
keeper. 

Much  had  happened  in  a  very  little  time,  but  to  the 
last  a  fine  tactician,  Charlotte  had  contrived  to  keep  her 
head.  She  was  in  the  presence  of  calamity,  she  had  met 
a  blow  that  would  have  broken  a  weaker  person  in 
pieces,  but  already  a  line  of  action  was  formed  in  her 
mind.  One  thing  alone  could  save  them,  and  that  the 
continued  goodwill  of  the  woman  they  had  so  long  mis- 
judged and  traduced. 

"Mrs.  Sanderson" — she  used  the  old  name  uncon- 
sciously— "we  owe  you  a  great  deal."  It  was  not  easy 
to  make  the  admission,  even  if  common  justice  rather 
than  policy  called  for  it.  "I  hope  now  you  will  let  us 
add  to  the  debt." 

The  Duke  was  forced  to  admire  the  dignity  and  the 
directness  of  the  appeal.  He  knew  how  hard  she  had 
been  hit.  But  that  was  not  all.  Marking  his  sister's 
tone,  intently  watching  her  grim  face,  he  saw  how  com- 
pletely her  attitude  had  changed.  The  other  woman  had 
conquered,  but  in  spite  of  all  he  had  suffered  at  the 
hands  of  Charlotte,  it  was  difficult  not  to  feel  a  certain 
respect  as  well  as  a  certain  pity  for  her  in  the  hour  of 
her  defeat. 

By  this,  Harriet,  too,  had  become  mistress  of  herself. 
She,  also,  had  suffered  much,  but  she  had  never  played 
for  victory,  and  she  was  very  far  from  the  thought  of  it 
now.  "I  have  but  one  wish,"  she  said. 

"And  that  is?"  His  tone  was  strangely  gentle  for 
her  voice  had  failed  suddenly. 

"To  do  what  is  right." 

270 


A  BOMB 

The  simplicity  of  the  words  held  them  silent.  Brother 
and  sister  looked  at  her  with  a  kind  of  awe  in  their  eyes. 
It  was  as  if  another  world  had  opened  to  their  rather 
bewildered  gaze. 

"I  want  to  do  right  to  those  who  have  been  so  good  to 
me,  and  to  my  father  and  my  grandfather  before  me." 

Somehow  that  speech,  gentleness  itself,  yet  sharp  as 
a  sword,  brought  the  blood  to  Lady  Wargrave's  face. 
In  a  flash  she  saw  and  felt  the  justification  of  her 
brother's  amazing  deed.  This  devoted  woman  in  her  self- 
lessness held  the  master  key  to  life  and  Fate ;  in  a  flash 
of  insight  she  saw  that  groundlings  and  grovelers  like 
themselves  were  powerless  before  it.  Somehow  those 
words,  that  bearing,  solved  the  mystery.  She  could  no 
longer  blame  her  brother ;  he  had  been  caught  in  the  toils 
of  an  irresistible  force. 

"Mrs.  Sanderson" — there  was  reverence  now  in  the 
harsh  voice — "you  are  the  best  judge  of  what  is  right 
We  are  content  to  leave  the  matter  to  your  discretion." 
Even  if  the  accomplished  tactician  was  uppermost  in 
Charlotte's  words,  in  the  act  of  uttering  them  was  a  large 
rather  noble  simplicity. 

The  Duke  nodded  acquiescence. 

"I  should  like  the  present  arrangement  to  go  on,"  said 
Harriet.  "Perhaps  the  truth  will  have  to  be  known 
some  time,  but  let  it  come  out  after  we  are  dead,  when 
it  can  hurt  nobody." 

Lady  Wargrave  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  and  grati- 
tude. 

"You  are  very  wise,"  she  said. 

But  the  Duke  took  her  up  at  once  with  a  saturnine 
271 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


smile.  "You  seem  to  forget,  Charlotte,  that  the  existing 
arrangement  can  no  longer  go  on." 

"Pray,  why  not?" 

"You  have  just  been  kind  enough  to  tell  us,"  he  said 
bitingly,  "that  Sarah  and  the  girls  are  going  to  live  with 
you  at  Hill  Street — except,  of  course,  on  one  condition !" 

Their  eyes  met.  Suddenly  they  smiled  frostily  at  each 
other. 

"If  you  care  to  leave  the  matter  to  me,"  said  Char- 
lotte, "I  will  see  to  that." 

"But  that  woman,  Sarah,"  he  persisted.  "She's  so 
obstinate  that  we  may  have  to  tell  her." 

Charlotte  shook  her  head  doughtily.  "I  think  I  shall 
be  able  to  manage  her." 

"So  be  it."  He  smiled  grimly.  "Anyhow  we  shall  be 
very  glad  to  leave  that  matter  in  your  hands." 

"With  perfect  safety,  I  think  you  may  do  that."  And 
Charlotte,  sore  and  embittered  as  she  was,  rounded  off 
this  comfortable  assurance  with  a  long  sigh  of  relief. 


CHAPTER  XII 
ARDORS  AND  ENDURANCES 


THERE,"  cried  Mary  upon  a  note  of  triumph. 
An  excited  wave  of  that  delightful  journal,  the 
Morning  Post,  accompanied  the  paean.    And  then 
it  was  hurled  across  the  breakfast-table  with  deft  pre- 
cision into  the  lap  of  Milly. 

"A  marriage  has  been  arranged,"  said  the  courier  of 
Hymen,  "and  will  shortly  take  place  between  Charles, 
only  son  of  the  late  Simeon  Cheesewright  and  Mrs. 
Cheesewright,  of  Streatham  Hill,  and  Mildred  Ulrica, 
younger  daughter  of  the  late  H.  Blandish  Wren  and  Mrs. 
Wren,  5,  Victoria  Mansions,  Broad  Place,  Knights- 
bridge,  W." 

Again  arose  the  triumphant  cry. 

But  Mrs.  Wren,  excavating  the  interior  of  a  boiled 
egg,  felt  it  to  be  her  duty  to  check  this  unbridled  en- 
thusiasm. For  some  days  past,  with  rather  mournful 
iteration,  she  had  let  it  be  known  that  the  impending 
announcement  could  not  hope  to  receive  her  unqualified 
approval. 

In  the  first  place,  as  she  frankly  admitted,  the  Marquis 
had  spoiled  her.  She  had  to  confess  that  he  had  proved 

273 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


sadly  lacking  in  backbone  when  brought  to  the  test,  but 
his  sternest  critics  could  not  deny  that  "before  every- 
thing he  was  a  gentleman." 

Mrs.  Wren  ascribed  her  own  pure  taste  in  manhood 
to  the  fact  that  she  had  begun  her  career  in  the  legitimate 
drama  under  the  aegis  of  Mr.  Painswick  at  the  Theater 
Royal,  Edinburgh.  He,  too,  had  been  before  everything 
a  gentleman.  Mr.  Painswick  had  shaped  Lydia  Mifflin, 
as  she  was  then,  in  his  own  inimitable  mold.  Upon  a 
day  she  was  to  play  Grace  to  his  Digby  Grant  in  "The 
Two  Roses."  Then  it  was,  as  she  had  always  felt,  that 
she  had  touched  her  high-water  mark;  and  the  signal 
occasion  was  ever  afterwards  a  beacon  in  her  life.  From 
that  bright  hour  the  Mr.  Painswick  standard  had  regu- 
lated the  fair  Lydia's  survey  of  the  human  male.  Even 
the  late  lamented  Mr.  H.  Blandish  Wren,  who  was  with- 
out a  peer  in  "straight"  comedy,  whose  Steggles  in  "Lon- 
don Assurance"  had  never  been  surpassed,  even  that  pala- 
din  .  Still  it  isn't  quite  fair  to  give  away  State 

secrets ! 

Mrs.  Wren  had  once  said  of  Charles  Cheesewright 
"that  he  was  not  out  of  the  top  drawer."  However,  if 
he  was  not  of  the  caste  of  Vere  de  Vere  she  had  to  own 
that  "he  had  points."  He  was  one  of  those  young  men 
who  mean  more  than  they  say,  who  do  better  than  they 
promise,  who  clothe  their  thoughts  with  actions  rather 
than  words.  Also,  he  had  two  motors — a  Daimler  and 
a  Rolls-Royce,  he  had  rooms  in  the  Albany,  and  though 
perhaps  just  a  little  inclined  to  overdress,  he  had  such 
a  sure  taste  in  jewelry  that  he  took  his  financee  once  a 
week  to  Cartier's.  And  beyond  everything  else,  he  had 

274 


ARDORS  AND  ENDURANCES 

the  supreme  advantage  over  my  lord  that  he  knew  his 
own  mind  pretty  clearly. 

In  the  opinion  of  Princess  Bedalia,  Milly  was  an  ex- 
tremely lucky  girl.  Her  young  man  was  a  simple,  good 
fellow,  honest  as  the  day,  he  was  incapable  of  any  kind 
of  meanness,  he  was  very  rich,  and,  what  was  hardly 
less  important,  he  was  very  much  in  love.  Milly,  how- 
ever, who  had  her  mother's  knack  of  seeing  men  and 
events  objectively,  did  not  yield  a  final  graceful  assent 
until  she  extorted  a  promise  from  Mr.  Charles  that  he 
would  suffer  the  rape  of  his  mustache,  at  the  best  a  mere 
scrub  of  an  affair,  and  that  he  would  solemnly  eschew 
yellow  plush  hats  which  hats  made  him  look  like  a 
piano- tuner. 

Still,  on  this  heroic  morning,  in  the  middle  of  July, 
Mrs.  Wren  seemed  less  pleased  with  the  world  than  she 
had  reason  to  be.  She  did  some  sort  of  justice  to  her 
egg,  but  she  wouldn't  look  at  the  marmalade.  If  the 
truth  must  be  told,  a  rather  histrionic  mind  was  still 
haunted  by  the  shade  of  the  noble  Marquis.  As  Milly, 
in  one  of  her  moments  of  engaging  candor,  had  told 
Mary  already,  as  far  as  her  mother  was  concerned  Wrex- 
ham  had  simply  queered  the  pitch  for  everybody. 

Certainly  that  lady  felt  it  to  be  her  duty  to  rebuke 
Mary's  enthusiasm.  There  was  nothing  to  make  a  song 
about.  Milly  was  simply  throwing  herself  away.  If 
everyone  had  had  their  rights,  she  would  have  been  Lady 
W.,  with  a  coronet  on  her  notepaper.  As  it  was,  there 
was  really  nothing  so  very  wonderful  in  being  the  wife 
of  an  overdressed  tobacconist. 

Mary  cried  "Shame,"  and  for  her  pains  was  sternly 
admonished.  One  who  has  made  such  hay  of  her  own 

275 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


dazzling  matrimonial  chances  must  not  venture  to  say  a 
word.  She  who  might  have  queened  it  among  the  high- 
est in  the  land  merely  by  substituting  the  big  word  "Yes" 
for  the  small  word  "No"  must  forever  hold  her  peace  on 
this  vexed  subject.  But  Mary  was  in  such  wild  spirits 
at  the  announcement  in  the  Morning  Post  that  she  re- 
fused to  be  browbeaten.  She  continued  to  sing  the 
praises  of  "Charley"  in  spite  of  the  clear  annoyance  of 
Mrs.  Wren.  The  good  lady  was  unable  to  realize  that 
the  girl  was  trying  with  might  and  main  to  stifle  an  ache 
that  was  almost  intolerable. 

"What  ho!"  Milly  suddenly  exclaimed,  withdrawing 
a  slightly  retrousse  but  decidedly  charming  nose  from 
Page  5  of  the  Morning  Post,  "so  they've  actually  made 
Uncle  Jacob  a  Bart." 

"My  dear,  you  mean  a  baronet.  Who? — made  who 
a  baronet?"  Mrs.  Wren  laid  down  an  imperious  egg- 
spoon. 

"Jacob  Cheesewright,  Esquire,  M.P.  for  Bradbury,  a 
rich  manufacturer  and  prominent  philanthropist.  He's 
in  the  honor  list  just  issued  by  the  King's  govern- 
ment." 

"Hooray!"  Mary  indulged  in  an  enthusiastic  wave 
of  the  tea-pot  which  happily  was  rather  less  than  half 
full.  "Which  means,  my  dear  Miss  Wren,  that  one  of 
these  days  there's  just  a  chance  of  your  being  my  lady." 

"As  though  that  could  possibly  matter!"  cried  Milly 
upon  a  note  of  the  finest  scorn  imaginable. 

"As  though  that  could  possibly  matter!"  Mary's  re- 
production of  the  note  in  question  was  so  humorously 
exact  that  it  sent  her  victim  into  a  fit  of  laughter. 

But  Mrs.  Wren  had  her  word  to  say  on  the  subject.  In 
276 


ARDORS  AND  ENDURANCES 

her  opinion,  which  was  that  of  all  sensible  people,  it  mat- 
tered immensely. 

"As  though  it  could !"  persisted  Milly. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Wren,  "that  is  shallow  and  ig- 
norant. A  baronetcy  is  a  baronetcy.  All  people  of 
breeding  think  so,  anyway." 

The  prospect  of  Uncle  Jacob's  elevation  had  already 
been  canvassed  in  Broad  Place  by  Charles,  his  nephew. 
There  was  evidently  something  in  the  wind  Whitehall 
way.  Uncle  Jacob  had  professed  such  a  heroic  indif- 
ference to  Aunt  Priscilla's  intelligent  anticipations,  that 
even  Charles,  his  nephew,  the  simplest  of  simple  souls, 
and  a  singularly  unworldly  young  man,  had  been  con- 
strained to  take  an  interest  in  the  matter.  As  for  Aunt 
Priscilla,  she  had  been  in  such  a  state  of  flutter  for  the 
past  two  months,  that  the  upper  servants  at  Thole  Park, 
Maidstone,  even  had  visions  of  an  earldom.  Still,  as 
Mr.  Bryant,  the  butler,  who  in  his  distinguished  youth 
had  graduated  at  Bridport  House,  Mayfair,  remarked  to 
Mrs.  Jennings  the  housekeeper  in  his  statesmanlike  way, 
"The  Limit  for  baby's  underclothing  is  a  baronetcy." 

ii 

Breakfast  was  just  at  an  end  when  the  trim  parlor- 
maid came  into  the  room  with  a  portentous-looking 
milliner's  box.  It  had  that  moment  arrived,  and  on  ex- 
amination was  found  to  contain  a  long  coat  of  sable. 
This  enchanting  garment  was  with  Mary's  best  wishes 
for  future  happiness. 

The  donor  was  scolded  roundly  for  her  lavishness,  but 
Milly  was  delighted  by  the  gift,  and  Mrs.  Wren,  who 

277 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


had  professed  a  stern  determination  to  be  no  longer 
friends  with  Mary  was  rather  touched.  She  well  knew 
that  she  was  a  person  "to  bank  on."  Besides,  Mrs.  Wren 
had  an  honest  admiration  for  a  fine  talent  and  the  im- 
assumingness  with  which  it  was  worn.  She  was  in- 
capable of  making  an  enemy,  for  her  one  idea  was  to 
bring  pleasure  to  other  people.  If  ever  human  creature 
had  been  designed  for  happiness  it  must  have  been  this 
girl,  yet  none  could  have  been  more  fully  bent  on  casting 
it  willfully  away. 

As  a  fact,  both  Milly  and  her  mother  had  been  much 
troubled  by  the  course  of  recent  events.  The  previous 
afternoon  Jack  had  taken  a  sad  farewell  of  his  friends 
in  Broad  Place.  His  passage  was  already  booked  in  the 
Arcadia,  which  that  very  Saturday  was  to  sail  from 
Liverpool  to  New  York.  All  his  hopes  had  proved  futile, 
all  his  arguments  vain.  Mary  could  not  be  induced  to 
change  her  mind,  which  even  at  the  eleventh  hour  he  had 
ventured  to  think  was  just  possible.  In  those  last  des- 
perate moments,  strength  of  will  had  enabled  her  to  stick 
to  her  resolve.  And  in  the  absence  of  any  intimation 
from  Bridport  House  the  Tenderfoot  had  been  driven 
to  carry  out  his  threat.  Yet  up  till  the  very  last  he  had 
tried  his  utmost  to  persuade  the  girl  he  loved  to  merge 
her  own  life  in  his  and  accompany  him  to  that  new  world 
where  a  career  awaited  him. 

Perhaps  these  efforts  had  not  been  wholly  reasonable. 
She  had  a  real  vocation  for  the  theater  if  ever  girl  had, 
even  if  he  had  a  real  vocation  for  jobbing  land.  But 
allowance  has  to  be  made  for  a  strong  man  in  love.  He 
was  in  sorry  case,  poor  fellow,  but  her  sense  of  duty  to 

278 


ARDORS  AND  ENDURANCES 

others  was  so  strong,  that  even  if  it  meant  tragic  un- 
happiness  for  both,  as  it  surely  must,  she  still  sought 
the  courage  not  to  yield. 

Such  a  decision  was  going  to  cost  a  very  great  deal. 
The  previous  afternoon,  at  the  moment  of  parting, 
she  had  been  fully  aware  of  that,  and  hour  by  hour 
since  she  had  realized  it  with  a  growing  intensity.  A 
stern  effort  of  the  will  had  been  needed  for  Princess 
Bedalia  to  achieve  her  five  hundred-and-sixty-second  ap- 
pearance that  evening;  she  had  spent  a  miserable  night 
and  now,  in  spite  of  the  whole-heartedness  with  which 
she  threw  herself  into  Milly's  affairs,  her  laugh  was 
pitched  a  little  too  high. 

Since  the  visit  to  Bridport  House  she  had  come  to 
know  her  own  mind  quite  definitely.  She  was  deeply  in 
love  with  Jack,  but  unless  the  powers  that  were  gave 
consent,  she  was  now  resolved  never  to  marry  him.  In 
vain  her  friends  continued  to  assure  her  that  such  an 
attitude  was  wrong.  In  vain  the  Tenderfoot  declared 
it  to  be  simply  preposterous.  Cost  what  it  might,  it  had 
become  a  point  of  honor  not  to  yield.  To  one  of  such 
clear  vision,  with,  as  it  seemed,  a  rather  uncanny  in- 
sight into  the  workings  of  worlds  beyond  her  own,  it  was 
of  vital  importance  to  study  the  interests  of  Bridport 
House. 

Milly,  even  if  very  angry  with  her  friend,  could  not 
help  admiring  this  devotion  to  a  quixotic  sense  of  right, 
and  the  force  of  character  which  faced  the  issue  so  un- 
flinchingly. She  could  not  begin  to  understand  the  point 
of  view,  but  she  well  knew  what  it  was  going  to  cost. 
And  this  morning,  in  spite  of  the  pleasant  and  piquant 

279 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


drama  of  her  own  affairs,  she  could  not  rid  herself  of  a 
feeling  of  distress  on  Mary's  account.  Now  it  had  come 
"to  footing  the  bill,"  a  heavy  price  would  have  to  be 
paid.  And  to  Milly's  shrewd,  engagingly  material  mind, 
the  whole  situation  was  exasperating. 

So  much  for  the  thoughts  uppermost  in  a  loyal  heart, 
while  the  misguided  cause  of  them  danced  a  pas  seul  in 
honor  of  the  morning's  news.  Milly,  indeed,  as  she 
gazed  in  the  glass  over  the  chimney-piece  to  see  what 
sort  of  a  figure  she  made  in  the  coat  of  sable,  was  much 
nearer  tears  than  was  either  seemly  or  desirable.  Still, 
in  spite  of  that,  she  was  able  to  muster  a  healthy  curi- 
osity upon  the  subject  of  her  appearance.  Fur  has  a 
trick  of  making  common  people  look  more  common,  and 
uncommon  people  look  more  uncommon,  a  trite  fact  of 
which  Milly,  the  astute,  was  well  aware,  It  was  pleasant 
to  find  at  any  rate  that  a  moment's  fleeting  survey  set  all 
her  doubts  at  rest  upon  that  important  point.  The  coat, 
a  dream  of  beauty,  became  her  quite  miraculously.  What 
a  virtue  there  was  in  that  deep,  rich  gloss !  It  gave  new 
values  to  the  eyes,  the  hair,  the  rounded  chin,  even  the 
piquant  nose  of  the  wearer. 

"You're  a  dear !"  Milly  burst  out,  as  she  turned  aside 
from  the  glass.  But  the  person  to  whom  the  tribute  was 
offered  was  quite  absorbed  in  looking  through  the  open 
window.  Indeed,  at  that  very  moment  a  succession  of 
royal  toots  from  a  motor  horn  ascended  from  the  pre- 
cincts of  Broad  Place,  and  Mary  ran  out  on  to  the 
veranda  with  a  view  halloa.  Then,  her  face  full  of 
humor  and  eloquence,  she  turned  to  look  back  into  the 
room  with  the  thrilling  announcement :  "Charley's  here !" 

280 


ARDORS  AND  ENDURANCES 

lit 

In  two  minutes,  or  rather  less  as  time  is  measured  in 
Elysium,  Mr.  Charles  Cheesewright  had  entered  that 
pleasant  room  with  all  the  gay  assurance  of  an  accepted 
suitor. 

"How  awfully  well  it  reads,  doesn't  it?"  he  said,  taking 
up  the  Morning  Post  with  the  fingers  of  a  lover. 

"Uncle  Jacob's  baronetcy  ?"  said  Mary,  with  an  eye  of 
bold  mischief. 

"Oh,  no !  That's  a  bit  of  a  bore,"  said  Mr.  Charles 
with  a  polite  grimace. 

"Why  a  bore?" 

"Uncle  Jacob  has  no  heir  and  he's  trying  to  arrange 
for  me  to  be  the  second  bart." 

Princess  Bedalia  looked  with  a  royal  air  at  her  favorite. 
"The  truth  is,  dear  Charles,  you  are  shamelessly  pleased 
about  the  whole  matter." 

"Well,  ye-es,  I  am."  Charles  was  hopelessly  cornered, 
but  like  any  other  self-respecting  Briton  he  was  quite 
determined  to  put  as  good  a  face  as  possible  upon  a  most 
damaging  admission.  "I  am  so  awfully  pleased  for 
Milly.  And,  of  course,  for  Uncle  Jacob." 

"Not  to  mention  Aunt  Priscilla,"  interposed  Milly.  It 
was  her  proud  boast  that  she  had  already  tried  a  fall 
with  Aunt  Priscilla,  had  tried  it,  moreover,  pretty  suc- 
cessfully. That  lady,  within  her  own  orbit,  was  a  great 
light,  but  Miss  Wren  had  proved  very  well  able  for  her 
so  far.  The  Aunt  Priscillas  of  the  world  were  not  going 
to  harry  Miss  Wren,  and  it  was  by  no  means  clear  that 
this  simple  fact  did  not  count  as  much  to  her  honor  in 

281 


THE  JIME  SPIRIT 


the  sight  of  Uncle  Jacob  as  it  undoubtedly  did  in  the 
sight  of  Charles,  his  nephew. 

At  any  rate,  Mr.  Charles  had  come  that  morning  to 
Broad  Place  on  a  diplomatic  mission.  It  seemed  that 
Uncle  Jacob  had  made  the  sporting  suggestion  that  the 
happy  pair  should  motor  down  to  Thole  Park,  Maidstone, 
for  luncheon,  that  Charles,  whose  only  merit  in  the  sight 
of  heaven  was  that  he  was  "plus  one"  at  North  Berwick, 
should  afterwards  give  careful  consideration  to  the  new 
nine-hole  course  which  had  been  laid  out  in  front  of  the 
house  by  the  renowned  Alec  Thomson  of  Cupar,  while 
Milly  had  a  little  heart-to-heart  talk  with  Aunt  Priscilla. 

In  a  word,  it  began  to  look  like  being  quite  a  good 
world  for  Charles  and  Milly.  And  even  Mrs.  Wren  was 
constrained  to  admit  it.  Sheer  human  merit  was  becom- 
ing a  little  too  much  for  the  higher  criticism.  And  daily 
these  twain  were  discovering  new  beauties  in  each  other. 
For  one  thing,  Charles's  upper  lip  was  now  as  smooth 
as  a  baby's,  and  a  mouth  so  firm  and  manly  was  thereby 
disclosed  that  it  really  seemed  a  pity  to  hide  it.  More- 
over, for  a  fortnight  past,  in  subtle,  unsuspected  ways  he 
had  been  bursting  forth  into  fine  qualities.  This  morn- 
ing, for  instance,  he  seemed  to  have  added  a  cubit  to  his 
stature.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  saying  in  regard  to 
himself  that  "he  was  not  a  flyer,"  but  really  if  you  saw 
him  at  the  angle  Milly  did,  and  you  came  to  think  about 
him  in  her  rational  manner,  it  began  to  seem  after  all 
he  might  turn  out  a  bit  of  one.  If  only  he  could  be 
persuaded  to  give  up  his  piano-tuner's  hat  there  would 
be  hope  for  him  anyway. 


282 


ARDORS  AND  ENDURANCES 

IV 

Milly  had  scarcely  left  the  room  to  put  on  her  things 
before  she  was  back  in  it.  And  she  returned  in  such 
a  state  of  excitement  that  she  could  hardly  speak.  The 
cause  of  it,  moreover,  following  hard  upon  her  heels,  was 
a  wholly  unexpected  visitor. 

"He  was  just  coming  in  at  the  front  door,"  Milly 
explained,  as  soon  as  the  state  of  her  emotions  would 
allow  her  to  do  so.  "I  was  never  so  taken  aback  in  my 
life.  Why,  a  feather  would  have  downed  me." 

In  that  moment  of  drama  it  was  not  too  much  to  say 
that  a  feather  would  have  had  an  equal  effect  upon  Mary. 
If  human  resolve  stood  for  anything,  and  it  stood  for  a 
good  deal  in  the  case  of  Jack  Dinneford,  he  should  have 
been  on  his  way  to  Liverpool.  At  six  o'clock  the  previ- 
ous evening  they  had  parted  heroically,  not  expecting 
to  see  each  other  again.  For  seventeen  hours  or  so, 
they  had  been  steeling  their  wills  miserably.  About 
2  a.m.,  the  hour  when  ghosts  walk  and  pixies  dance  the 
foxtrot,  both  had  felt  that,  after  all,  they  would  not  be 
strong  enough  to  bear  the  self-inflicted  blow.  But  day- 
light had  found  them  true  to  the  faith  that  was  in  them. 
She  had  just  enough  fortitude  not  to  telephone  a  change 
of  mind,  he  was  just  man  enough  to  decide  not  to  miss 
the  10.5  from  Euston. 

Still,  when  the  best  has  been  said  for  it,  the  human 
will  is  but  a  trivial  affair.  Man  is  not  much  when  the 
Fates  begin  to  weave  their  magic  web.  A  taxi  was  actu- 
ally at  the  door  of  Jack's  chambers,  nay,  his  luggage  had 
even  been  strapped  into  the  front  of  the  vehicle,  when 
there  came  an  urgent  message  by  telephone  from  Brid- 

283 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


port  House  to  say  that  his  Grace  most  particularly  de- 
sired that  Mr.  Dinneford  and  Miss  Lawrence  would  come 
to  luncheon  at  half-past  one. 

What  was  a  man  to  do?  To  obey  the  command  was, 
of  course,  to  forgo  all  hope  of  sailing  by  the  Arcadia. 
To  ignore  it  was  to  forgo  all  hope  of  entering  Elysium. 
In  justice  to  Mr.  Dinneford  it  took  him  rather  less  than 
one  minute  to  decide.  His  servant  was  promptly  or- 
dered to  unship  his  gear  and  dismiss  the  taxi. 

It  was  the  nearest  possible  shave.  His  Grace  had 
run  matters  so  fine,  that  had  he  delayed  his  communica- 
tion another  two  minutes,  the  Tenderfoot  would  have 
been  on  his  way  to  New  York.  Some  miraculous  change 
of  plan  had  occurred  at  the  fifty-ninth  minute  of  the 
eleventh  hour.  Exactly  what  it  was  must  now  be  the 
business  of  a  distracted  lover  to  find  out. 

Jack's  totally  unexpected  return  to  Broad  Place  was 
in  itself  an  epic.  And  his  unheralded  appearance  had 
such  an  effect  upon  Mary,  upon  Milly,  upon  Mrs.  Wren, 
that  he  regretted  not  having  had  the  forethought  to  tele- 
phone his  change  of  plans.  He  came  as  a  bolt  from 
the  blue,  bringing  with  him  an  immensely  difficult 
moment ;  and  the  presence  of  Mr.  Charles  Cheesewright, 
of  whom  Jack  only  knew  by  hearsay,  undoubtedly  added 
to  its  embarrassments. 

Before  anything  could  be  done,  even  before  the  excited 
Milly  could  interpose  a  "Tell  me,  is  it  all  right?"  it  was 
necessary  for  these  paladins  to  be  made  known  to  each 
other.  There  was  wariness  on  the  part  of  both  in  the 
process.  Neither  was  quite  able  to  accept  the  other  on 
trust.  But  a  brief  taking  of  the  moral  temperature  by 
two  members  of  the  sex  which  inclines  to  reserve  con- 

284 


ARDORS  AND  ENDURANCES 

vinced  the  one  that  Wrexham's  successor  had  the  air  and 
the  look  of  a  good  chap,  and  what  was  quite  as  impor- 
tant, convinced  the  other  that  the  heir  to  the  dukedom 
was  not  the  least  of  a  swankpot.  All  of  which  was  so 
far  excellent. 

A  desire  to  ask  a  thousand  questions  was  simply  burn- 
ing holes  in  Milly.  But  she  had  to  endure  the  torments 
of  martyrdom.  Questions  could  not  be  asked  in  the 
presence  of  Charles.  It  called  for  a  great  effort  to  be- 
have as  if  the  bottom  had  not  fallen  out  of  the  universe. 
In  the  most  heroic  way  she  kept  the  conversation  at  a 
diplomatic  level,  remarking  among  other  things  that  it 
was  an  ideal  day  for  motoring,  which  finally  reminded 
her  that  she  must  really  go  and  put  on  her  hat. 

"And  don't  forget  a  thick  veil,"  Mary  called  after  her, 
in  a  voice  of  superhuman  detachment. 

The  business  of  not  letting  the  innocent  Charles  into 
the  secret  was  a  superb  piece  of  comedy.  There  is  really 
no  need  to  write  novels  or  to  go  to  the  play.  They  are 
the  stuff  our  daily  lives  are  made  of.  The  way  in  which 
these  four  people  set  themselves  to  hoodwink  a  Simple 
Simon  of  a  fifth  was  quite  a  rich  bit  of  humor.  Little 
recked  Mr.  Charles  Cheesewright  that  the  heavens  had 
just  opened  in  Broad  Place. 

At  last  Milly  returned  cap-a-pie,  and  then  by  the  mercy 
of  Divine  Providence  Mr.  Charles  suddenly  remembered 
that  it  was  a  long  way  to  Maidstone  and  that  it  was  now 
a  quarter  past  eleven. 

"I'm  quite  ready  when  you  are,"  said  Milly  to  her 
cavalier,  with  all  the  guile  of  a  young  female  serpent. 
Mr.  Charles  shook  hands  gravely  and  Britishly  all  round, 
and  Mary  wished  them  a  pleasant  journey,  and  Mrs. 

285 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


Wren  "hoped  they  would  wrap  up  well,"  and  then  Milly 
stepped  deftly  back  three  paces  from  the  door,  saying, 
"You  know  the  way  down,  Charley,"  as  clear  an  intima- 
tion as  any  young  man  could  desire  that  it  was  up  to  him 
to  lead  it. 

Charles  led  the  way  accordingly,  and  then  came  Milly's 
chance. 

"What  has  happened?" 

"Uncle  Albert  has  sent  for  us." 

"For  both?" 

"For  both!" 

Just  for  a  moment  Mary's  feelings  nearly  proved  too 
much  for  her.  Having  come  to  despair  of  Bridport 
House,  there  had  been  no  reason  to  hope  for  this  sudden 
change  of  front.  She  simply  couldn't  fathom  it.  That 
was  also  true  of  Milly.  And  as  the  significance  of  the 
whole  thing  rushed  upon  that  imperious  creature,  she 
turned  to  Mary  in  the  manner  of  Helen,  the  Spartan 
Queen.  "A  last  word  to  you,  Miss  Lawrence!"  Her 
voice  trembled  with  excitement.  "If  you  do  anything 
idiotic,  I'll  never  speak  to  you  again.  And  that's 
official!" 

v 

As  the  crow  flies,  it  is  just  nine  minutes  from  Broad 
Place  to  Bridport  House.  Therefore  they  had  time  to 
burn.  And  as  it  was  such  a  perfect  day  for  motoring, 
it  was  a  day  equally  well  adapted  for  sitting  under  the 
trees  in  the  Park. 

Force  majeure  was  applied  so  vigorously  by  Mrs. 
Wren,  with  timely  aid  from  the  Tenderfoot,  that  Mary 
was  not  given  half  a  chance  to  jib  at  this  new  and  amaz- 

286 


ARDORS  AND  ENDURANCES 

ing  turn  of  fortune's  shuttle.  She  must  wear  her  new 
hat  with  the  roses — Mrs.  Wren.  She  must  wear 
Raquin's  biscuit-colored  masterpiece — Mr.  Dinneford. 
Her  diamond  earrings  thought  Mrs.  Wren.  Mr.  Dinne- 
ford thought  her  old-fashioned  seed  pearl.  There  was 
never  really  any  question  of  her  going  to  luncheon  at 
Bridport  House  at  1.30.  Her  friends  and  counselors  did 
not  even  allow  it  to  arise.  The  only  thing  that  need 
trouble  her  was  how  she  looked  when  she  got  there. 

En  route  she  made  a  picture  of  immense  distinction 
beyond  a  doubt.  Whether  it  was  the  hat  with  the  roses, 
or  the  sunshine  of  July,  or  the  dress  of  simple  muslin, 
which  on  second  thoughts  seemed  more  in  keeping  with 
the  occasion  than  the  Raquin  masterpiece,  and  in  the 
opinion  of  Mrs.  Wren  had  the  further  merit  "that  it  gave 
her  eyes  a  chance,"  or  her  favorite  earrings  which  Aunt 
Harriet  had  given  her  as  a  little  girl ;  or  the  fact  that  Jack 
walked  beside  her,  and  that  Happiness  is  still  the  greatest 
of  Court  painters,  who  shall  say? — but  in  the  course  of 
a  pilgrimage  from  Albert  Gate  to  the  Marble  Arch  and 
half  way  back  again,  she  certainly  attracted  more  than 
her  share  of  the  public  notice.  In  fact,  with  her  fine 
height  and  her  lithe  grace  she  actually  provoked  a  hook- 
nosed, hard-featured  dame  in  a  sort  of  high-hung 
barouche  to  turn  in  the  most  deliberate  manner  and  look 
at  her.  Or  it  may  have  been  because  the  Tenderfoot  in 
passing  had  raised  a  reluctant,  semi-ironical  hat. 

"Aunt  Charlotte,"  said  he. 

"I  hope  Aunt  Charlotte  is  not  as  disagreeable  as  she 
looks,"  was  Mary's  thought,  but  doubtless  remembering 
in  the  nick  of  time  Talleyrand's  famous  maxim,  she 
merely  said,  "What  a  clever  face !" 

1*7 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


"Is  it?"  said  Jack,  unconcernedly.  But  his  mind  was 
on  other  things,  perhaps. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  on  other  things. 

"Let's  sit  here  five  minutes,"  he  said,  as  they  came  to 
a  couple  of  vacant  chairs.  "Then  I'll  tell  you  a  bit  of 
news." 

They  sat  accordingly.  And  the  bit  of  news  was  the 
following : 

"Muriel's  hooked  it." 

Respect  for  her  mother  tongue  caused  Mary  to  demand 
a  repetition  of  this  cryptic  statement. 

"Hooked  it  with  her  Radical,"  Jack  amplified.  "They 
were  married  yesterday  morning,  quite  quietly,  'owing 
to  the  indisposition  of  his  Grace,'  the  papers  say.  And 
they  are  now  in  Scotland  on  their  honeymoon." 

"Let  us  hope  they'll  be  happy,"  said  Mary.  "She  has 
a  very  brilliant  husband,  at  any  rate." 

"Not  a  doubt  of  that.  If  brains  breed  happiness, 
they'll  be  all  right." 

But  do  brains  breed  happiness?  that  was  the  question 
in  their  minds  at  the  moment.  Aunt  Charlotte  had 
brains  undoubtedly,  but  as  she  passed  them  three  minutes 
since  no  one  could  have  said  that  she  looked  happy.  The 
Duke  had  brains,  but  few  would  have  said  that  he  was 
happy.  Mary  herself  had  brains,  and  they  had  brought 
her  within  an  ace  of  wrecking  her  one  chance  of  real 
happiness. 

They  were  in  the  midst  of  this  philosophical  inquiry, 
when  Chance,  that  prince  of  magicians,  gave  the  kaleido- 
scope a  little  loving  shake,  and  hey !  presto !  the  other  side 
of  the  picture  was  laughingly  presented  to  them. 

A  rather  lop-sided  young  man  in  a  brown  bowler  hat 
288 


ARDORS  AND  ENDURANCES 

was  marching  head  in  air  along  the  gravel  in  front  of 
them.  One  shoulder  was  a  little  higher  than  its  neigh- 
bor, his  clothes  looked  shabby  in  the  sun  of  July,  his 
gait  was  slightly  grotesque,  yet  upon  his  face  was  a  smile 
of  rare  complacency.  In  one  hand  he  held  a  small  girl 
of  five,  and  in  the  other  a  small  boy  to  match  her;  and 
that  may  have  been  why  at  this  precise  moment  he  looked 
as  if  he  had  just  acquired  a  controlling"  interest  in  the 
planet.  And  yet  there  must  have  been  some  deeper, 
subtler  reason  for  this  young  man's  air  of  power  mingled 
with  beatitude. 

Rather  mean  of  mansion  as  he  was,  it  was  impossible 
for  two  shrewd  spectators  of  the  human  comedy  on  the 
Park  chairs  to  ignore  him  as  he  swung  gayly  by.  In 
spite  of  his  impossible  hat  and  his  weird  trousers,  the 
mere  look  on  his  face  was  almost  cosmic  in  its  signifi- 
cance, he  was  so  clearly  on  terms  with  heaven.  But  in 
any  case  he  would  have  forcibly  entered  their  scheme  of 
existence.  Just  as  he  came  level  with  them  he  chanced 
to  lower  his  gaze  abruptly  and  by  doing  so  caught  the 
fascinated  eyes  of  Mary  fixed  upon  his  face. 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Lawrence.     What  a  nice  day!" 

He  was  not  in  a  position  to  take  off  his  hat,  but  he 
enforced  a  hearty  greeting  with  a  superb  bow,  and  passed 
jauntily  on. 

The  Tenderfoot  could  not  help  being  amused.  "Who's 
your  friend  ?"  He  turned  a  quizzical  eye  upon  a  counte- 
nance glowing  with  mischief. 

"That's  Alf." 

"In  the  name  of  all  that's  wonderful,  who  is  Alf?" 
The  tone  was  expostulation  all  compact,  but  as  mirth  was 

289 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


frankly  uppermost,  even  the  most  sensitive  democrat 
could  hardly  have  resented  it. 

"He's  a  man  on  a  newspaper." 

"I  see,"  said  the  Tenderfoot.  But  somehow  it  didn't 
explain  him. 

"An  old  friend,  my  dear,  and  he's  now  the  Press,  with 
a  capital  letter.  The  other  day  he  interviewed  me  for 
his  paper." 

"How  could  you  let  him?"  gasped  the  Tenderfoot. 

"For  the  sake  of  old  times."  Suddenly  she  loosed  her 
famous  note.  "That  little  man  is  in  my  stars.  He  dates 
back  to  my  earliest  flapperdom,  when  my  great  ambition 
was  to  kill  him.  He  was  the  green-grocer's  boy  in  the 
next  street,  and  he  used  to  call  after  me : 

"  'I  am  Mary  Plantagenet ; 
Who  would  imagine  it? 
Eyes  full  of  liquid  fire, 

Hair  bright  as  jet; 
No  one  knows  my  hist'ry, 
I  am  wrapt  in  myst'ry, 
I  am  the  She-ro 
Of  a  penny  novelette.' " 

"Well,  I  hope,"  said  the  Tenderfoot,  "you  jolly  well 
lammed  into  him  for  such  a  piece  of  infernal  cheek." 

"Yes,  I  did,"  she  confessed.  "One  day  I  turned  on 
him  and  boxed  his  ears,  and  I'm  bound  to  say  he's  been 
very  respectful  ever  since.  It  was  very  amusing  to  be 
reminded  of  his  existence  when  he  turned  up  the  other 
day.  He  paid  me  all  sorts  of  extravagant  compliments ; 
he  seems  to  hold  himself  responsible  for  any  success  I 
may  have  had." 

"Nice  of  him." 

"He  says  he  has  written  me  up  for  the  past  two  years ; 
290 


ARDORS  AND  ENDURANCES 

and  that  when  he  edits  a  paper  of  his  own,  and  he's 
quite  made  up  his  mind  that  it  won't  be  long  before  he 
does,  I  can  have  my  portrait  in  it  as  often  as  I  want." 

"My  Lord!" 

"All  very  honestly  meant,"  laughed  Mary  Plantagenet. 
"It  is  very  charming  of  Alf — a  nom  de  guerre,  by  the 
way.  His  real  name  is  Michael  Conner,  but  now  he's 
Alf  of  the  Millennium.  And  the  other  day  at  our  inter- 
view, when  he  came  to  talk  of  old  times,  somehow  I 
couldn't  help  loving  him." 

"What,  love-that!" 

"There's  something  to  love  in  everybody,  my  dear.  It's 
really  very  easy  to  like  people  if  you  hunt  for  the  posi- 
tive— if  that's  not  a  high  brow  way  of  putting  it !  The 
other  day  when  Alf  began  to  talk  of  his  ambitions,  and 
of  the  wife  he  had  married,  and  of  the  little  Alfs  and 
the  little  Alfesses,  I  thought  the  more  there  are  of  you 
the  merrier,  because  after  all  you  are  rather  fine,  you 
are  good  for  the  community,  and  you  make  this  old  world 
go  round.  Anyhow  we  began  as  enemies,  and  now  we 
are  friends  'for  keeps,'  and  both  Alf  and  I  are  so  much 
the  better  for  knowing  it." 

"I  wonder!" 

"Of  course  we  are.  And  when  Alf  is  a  great  editor, 
as  he  means  to  be,  and  he  is  able  to  carry  out  his  great 
scheme  of  founding  a  Universal  Love  and  Admiration 
Society,  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  out  the  best  in 
everybody,  including  foreign  nations — his  very  own  idea, 
and  to  my  mind  a  noble  one — he  has  promised  to  make 
me  an  original  member." 

"A  very  original  member!"    The  Tenderfoot  scoffed. 

But  sitting  there  in  the  eye  of  the  morning,  with  the 
291 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


gentle  leaves  whispering  over  his  head,  and  the  finest 
girl  in  the  land  by  his  side  drawing  a  fanciful  picture  of 
"Alf"  on  the  gravel  with  the  point  of  her  sunshade,  he 
was  not  in  the  mood  for  mockery.  The  world  was  so 
full  of  a  number  of  things,  that  it  seemed  but  right  and 
decent  to  have  these  large  and  generous  notions.  Let 
every  atom  and  molecule  that  made  up  the  pageant  of 
human  experience  overflow  in  love  and  admiration  of 
its  neighbor.  He  was  a  dud  himself,  his  dwelling-place 
was  en  parterre,  yet  as  heaven  was  above  him  and  She 
was  at  his  elbow,  there  was  no  denying  that  the  little  man 
who  had  just  passed  out  of  sight  had  laid  hold  somehow 
of  a  divine  idea. 

Yes,  the  ticket  for  the  future  was  Universal  Love  and 
Admiration,  at  any  rate  for  the  heirs  of  the  good  God. 
Not  a  doubt  that!  He  didn't  pretend  to  be  a  philoso- 
pher, or  a  poet,  but  even  he  could  see  that  yonder  little 
scug  in  the  brown  pot  hat  was  a  big  proposition. 

"I  wonder,"  he  mused  aloud,  "how  the  little  bounder 
came  to  think  of  that?" 

"He  says  it  came  to  him  in  his  sleep."  And  the  artist 
at  his  elbow  gave  one  final  masterful  curl  to  the  amazing 
trousers  of  the  latest  benefactor  of  the  human  species. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
EVERYTHING  FOR  THE  BEST 


JACK  glanced  at  the  watch  on  his  wrist.  By  the 
mercy  of  Allah  there  were  fifty  minutes  yet.  A 
whole  fifty  minutes  yet  to  stay  in  heaven.  And 
then  .  .  . 

Suddenly  hard  set  by  thoughts  which  had  no  right  to 
be  there  he  looked  up  and  away  in  the  direction  of  Brid- 
port  House. 

"There  they  go!"  He  gave  the  pavement  artist  a 
little  prod. 

"Who — goes — where  ?" 

"Cousin  Blanche  and  Cousin  Marjorie." 

True  enough !  Sublimely  unconscious  of  two  pairs  of 
amused  eyes  upon  them,  Cousin  Blanche  and  Cousin 
Marjorie  were  passing  slowly  by.  As  usual  at  that  hour 
they  were  riding  their  tall  horses.  And  they  became 
their  tall  horses  so  remarkably  well  that  they  might  have 
belonged  to  the  train  of  Artemis.  In  the  saddle,  at  any 
rate,  Cousin  Blanche  and  Cousin  Marjorie  looked  hard 
to  beat. 

"Now  for  your  precious  theory,"  said  the  Tenderfoot 
with  malice.  "Here's  your  chance  to  hunt  ,for  the 
positive." 

293 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


She  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  slowly-receding  enemy. 
"Well,  in  the  first  place,  my  dear,  those  old-fashioned 
habits  become  them  marvelously." 

"No  use  for  that  sort  of  kit  myself/'  growled  the 
hostile  critic. 

"Then  they  are  so  much  a  part  of  their  horses  they 
might  be  female  centaurs." 

"And  about  as  amusing  as  female  centaurs." 

"But  we  are  hunting  for  the  positive,  aren't  we  ?  We 
are  trying  'to  affirm  something,'  as  Alf  would  say.  Now 
those  two  and  their  horses  are  far  grander  works  of 
art  than  anything  that  ever  came  out  of  Greece  or  Italy. 
It  has  taken  millions  of  years  to  produce  them  and  they 
are  so  perfect  in  their  way  that  one  wonders  how  they 
ever  came  to  be  produced  at  all." 

"You  might  say  that  of  anything  or  anybody — if  you 
come  to  think  of  it." 

"Of  course.  I  agree.  And  so  would  Alf.  And 
that's  why  universal  love  and  admiration  are  so  proper 
and  natural." 

"Wait  till  you  are  really  up  against  'em  and  then 
you'll  see." 

"The  more  I'm  up  against  them — if  I  am  to  be  up 
against  them — the  more  I  shall  love  and  admire  them, 
not  for  what  they  are  perhaps,  but  for  what  they  might 
be  if  only  they'd  take  a  little  trouble  over  their  parts  in 
this  wonderful  Play,  which  I'm  quite  sure  the  Author 
meant  to  be  so  very  much  finer  than  we  silly  amateurs 
ever  give  it  a  chance  of  becoming." 

The  sunshade  began  to  scratch  the  gravel  again,  while 
Jack  Dinneford  sighed  over  its  owner's  crude  philosophy. 

294 


EVERYTHING  FOR  THE  BEST 

Presently  he  began  to  realize  again  that  they  were  in 
a  fool's  paradise.  Surely  they  were  taking  a  climb  down 
too  much  for  granted.  Why  should  these  hardshells 
give  in  so  inexplicably?  It  was  in  the  nature  of  things 
for  a  flaw  to  lurk  under  all  this  fair-seeming.  Only 
fools  would  ever  build  on  such  a  sublime  pretense  as 
Bridport  House.  Was  it  rational  to  expect  its  denizens 
to  behave  like  ordinary  sensible  human  people? 

In  order  to  sidetrack  his  fears  he  turned  again  to 
watch  the  labors  of  the  pavement  artist.  The  tip  of  a 
gifted  sunshade  was  doing  wonderful  things  with  the 
gravel.  It  had  just  evolved  a  chef  d'  awure,  which  how- 
ever was  only  apparent  to  the  eye  of  faith. 

"Who  do  you  imagine  that  is?" 

Imagination  was  certainly  needed.  It  would  not  have 
been  possible  otherwise  to  see  a  resemblance  to  anything 
human. 

"That  is  his  lamp,"  hovered  the  sunshade  above  this 
masterpiece.  "That  is  his  truncheon.  Those  are  his 
boots.  That  is  his  overcoat.  And  there  we  have  his 
helmet.  And  there,"  the  tip  of  the  sunshade  traced 
slowly,  "the  noble  profile  of  the  greatest-  dear  in  exist- 
ence." 

At  that  he  was  bound  to  own  that  had  the  Park  gravel 
been  more  sensitive,  here  would  have  been  a  living  por- 
trait of  Sergeant  Kelly  of  the  X  Division.  And  even  if 
it  was  only  visible  to  the  eye  of  faith  it  was  pretext 
enough  for  honest  laughter. 

"No  one  knows  her  hist'ry, 
She   is  wrapt    in   myst'ry," 

he  quoted  softly. 

295 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


It  was  quite  true.  Various  zephyrs  and  divers  little 
birds  had  whispered  the  romantic  fact  in  their  ears  long 
ago.  But  what  did  it  matter?  It  was  but  one  plume 
more  in  the  cap  of  the  Magician,  a  mere  detail  in  that 
pageant  of  which  Mystery  itself  is  the  last  expression. 

There  may  have  been  wisdom  in  their  laughter.  At 
any  rate  it  seemed  to  give  them  a  kind  of  Dutch  courage 
for  the  ordeal  that  was  now  so  near.  But  a  rather 
forced  gayety  did  not  long  continue ;  it  was  soon  merged 
in  a  further  piece  of  news  which  Jack  suddenly  re- 
membered. 

"By  the  way,"  he  announced,  "there's  more  trouble  at 
Bridport  House.  My  cousins,  I  hear,  are  going  to  live 
with  Aunt  Charlotte." 

She  was  obliged  to  ask  why,  but  he  had  to  own  that 
it  was  beyond  his  power  to  answer  her  question.  All 
that  he  knew  was  that  his  cousins  were  "at  serious  outs" 
with  their  father,  and  that  according  to  recent  informa- 
tion they  were  on  the  point  of  leaving  the  paternal  roof. 

The  Tenderfoot,  however,  in  professing  a  diplomatic 
ignorance  of  a  matter  to  which  he  had  indiscreetly  re- 
ferred, had  only  pulled  up  in  the  nick  of  time.  He  knew 
rather  more  than  he  said.  "There's  a  violent  quarrel 
about  Mrs.  Sanderson,"  was  at  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  but 
happily  he  saw  in  time  that  such  words  in  such  circum- 
stances would  be  pure  folly.  Nay,  it  was  folly  to  have 
drifted  into  these  perilous  waters  at  all;  and  in  the  face 
of  a  suddenly  awakened  curiosity,  he  proceeded  at  once 
to  steer  the  talk  into  a  safer  channel. 

After  all,  that  was  not  very  difficult.  As  they  sat  under 
the  whispering  leaves,  gazing  a  little  wistfully  at  the 
pomp  of  a  summer's  day,  heaven  was  so  near  that  it 

296 


%\Ve  mustn't  build  castles,"  she  sighed,  and  the  light 
fringed  her  eyelids 


hardly  seemed  rational  to  be  giving  a  thought  to  those 
who  dwelt  in  spheres  less  halcyon.  The  previous  eve- 
ning at  six  o'clock  they  had  parted  for  ever  in  this  very 
spot.  But  a  swift  turn  of  Fate's  shuttle  had  changed 
everything. 

As  now  they  tried  to  understand  what  had  occurred, 
it  was  hard  to  keep  from  building  castles.  An  absurd 
old  planet  might  prove,  after  all,  such  a  wonderful  place. 
When  you  are  four-and-twenty  and  in  love,  and  the 
crooked  path  suddenly  turns  to  the  straight,  and  the 
future  is  seen  through  magic  vistas  just  ahead,  surpris- 
ing things  are  apt  to  arise,  take  shape,  acquire  a  hue,  a 
meaning.  The  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land  is 
quite  likely  to  be  found  south  of  the  Marble  Arch  and 
north  of  Hyde  Park  Corner.  They  were  on  the  thres- 
hold of  a  very  wonderful  world.  What  gifts  were 
theirs!  Health,  youth,  a  high-hearted  joy  in  existence, 
here  were  the  keys  of  heaven.  Life  was  what  they 
chose  to  make  it. 

Poetry  herself  clothed  them  as  with  a  garment.  But 
not  for  a  moment  must  they  forget,  even  amid  the  dan- 
gerous joys  of  a  rather  wild  reaction,  that  all  might  be 
illusion.  Voices  whispered  from  the  leaves  that  as  yet 
they  were  not  out  of  the  wood.  Jack,  it  is  true,  was  fain 
to  believe  that  the  latest  act  of  Bridport  House  implied  a 
very  real  change  of  heart.  For  all  that,  as  the  hour  of 
Fate  drew  on,  he  could  not  stifle  a  miserable  feeling  of 
nervousness.  And  Mary,  too,  in  spite  of  a  proud  surface 
gayety,  felt  faint  within.  The  dream  was  far  too  good 
to  be  true. 

"Of  course  it's  a  climb  down,"  said  Jack,  whistling  to 
keep  up  his  courage.  "Do  you  suppose  Uncle  Albert 

297 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


would  have  sent  for  us  like  this  unless  he  meant  to  chuck 
up  the  sponge?" 

"We  mustn't  build  castles,"  she  sighed,  and  the  light 
fringed  her  eyelids. 

"We'll  build  'em  as  high  as  the  moon !" 

She  shook  a  whimsical  head.  And  then  the  goad  of 
youth  drove  her  to  a  smile  of  perilous  happiness.  All 
sorts  of  subtle  fears  were  lurking  in  that  good,  shrewd 
brain  of  hers.  They  were  on  the  verge  of  chaos  and 
Old  Night — yet  she  had  not  the  heart  to  rebuke  him. 

The  dread  hour  of  one-thirty  was  now  so  very  near, 
that  it  was  idle  to  disguise  the  fact  that  one  at  least  of 
the  two  people  on  the  Park  chairs  had  grown  extremely 
unhappy.  Mary  was  quite  sure  that  a  horrible  ordeal 
was  going  to  prove  too  much  for  her.  It  was  hardly 
less  than  madness  to  have  yielded  in  the  way  she  had. 
But  qualms  were  useless,  fears  were  vain.  There  was 
only  one  thing  to  do.  She  must  set  her  teeth  and  go 
and  face  the  music. 

ii 

Punctual  to  the  minute  they  were  at  the  solemn  portals 
of  Bridport  House.  And  then  as  a  servant  in  a  gro- 
tesque livery  piloted  them  across  an  expanse  of  rather 
pretentious  hall  into  a  somber  room,  full  of  grandiose 
decoration  and  Victorian  furniture,  a  grand  fighting  spirit 
suddenly  rose  in  one  whose  need  of  it  was  sore.  Mary 
was  quaking  in  her  shoes,  yet  the  joy  of  battle  came  upon 
her  in  the  queerest,  most  unexpected  way.  It  was  as  if 
a  magician  had  waved  his  wand  and  all  the  paltry  emo- 
tions of  the  past  hour  were  dispelled.  Perhaps  it  was 
that  deep  down  in  her  slept  an  Amazon.  Or  a  clear  con- 

298 


EVERYTHING  FOR  THE  BEST 

science  may  have  inspired  her;  at  any  rate  she  had  no 
need  to  reproach  herself  just  then.  She  could  look  the 
whole  world  in  the  face.  Her  attitude  had  been  sensi- 
tively correct;  if  other  people  did  not  appreciate  that 
simple  fact,  so  much  the  worse  for  other  people! 

A  long  five  minutes  they  waited  in  that  large  and 
dismal  room,  a  slight  flush  of  anxiety  upon  their  faces, 
their  hearts  beating  a  little  wildly,  no  doubt.  In  all 
that  time  not  a  word  passed  between  them;  the  tension 
was  almost  more  than  they  could  bear.  If  Fate  had 
kept  till  the  last  one  final  scurvy  trick  it  would  be  too 
horrible !  And  then  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  this  grim 
thought,  an  old  man  came  hobbling  painfully  in.  Both 
were  struck  at  once  by  the  look  of  him.  There  was 
something  in  the  bearing,  in  the  manner,  in  the  play  of 
the  rather  exquisite  face  which  spoke  to  them  intimately. 
For  a  reason  deeply  obscure,  which  Jack  and  Mary  were 
very  far  from  comprehending,  the  welcome  he  gave  her 
was  quite  touching.  It  was  full  of  a  simple  kindness, 
spontaneous,  unstudied,  oddly  caressing. 

Jack,  amazed  not  a  little  by  the  heart-on-the-sleeve 
attitude  of  this  old  barbarian,  could  only  ascribe  it  to  the 
desire  of  a  finished  man  of  the  world  to  put  the  best 
possible  face  on  an  impossible  matter.  Yet,  somehow, 
that  cynical  view  did  not  seem  to  cover  the  facts  of 
the  case. 

In  a  way  that  hardly  belonged  to  a  tyrant  and  an 
autocrat,  the  old  man  took  one  of  the  girl's  hands  into 
the  keeping  of  his  poor  enfeebled  ones,  and  was  still 
holding  it  when  his  sister  and  his  eldest  daughter  came 
into  the  room.  Both  ladies  were  firm  in  the  belief  that 
this  was  the  most  disagreeable  moment  of  their  lives. 

299 


Still  it  was  their  nature  to  meet  things  heroically,  and 
they  now  proceeded  to  do  so. 

The  picture  their  minds  had  already  formed  of  this 
girl  was  not  a  pleasing  one.  But  as  far  as  Lady  War- 
grave  was  concerned  it  was  shattered  almost  instantly. 
The  likeness  between  father  and  daughter  was  amaz- 
ing. She  had,  in  quite  a  remarkable  degree,  the  look 
of  noblesse  the  world  had  always  admired  in  him,  with 
which,  however,  he  had  signally  failed  to  endow  the 
daughters  of  the  first  marriage.  But  there  was  far  more 
than  a  superficial  likeness  to  shatter  preconceived  ideas. 
Another,  more  virile  strain  was  hers.  The  mettle  of 
the  pasture,  the  breath  of  the  moorland,  had  given  her 
a  look  of  purpose  and  fire,  even  if  the  grace  of  the 
salon  had  yielded  much  of  its  own  peculiar  amenity. 
Whatever  else  she  might  be,  the  youngest  daughter  of 
the  House  of  Dinneford  was  a  personality  of  a  rare  but 
vivid  kind. 

As  soon  as  the  Duke  realized  that  the  ladies  had  en- 
tered the  room,  he  gravely  presented  the  girl,  but  with 
a  touch  of  chivalry  that  she  simply  adored  in  him.  The 
little  note  of  homage  melted  in  the  oddest  way  the  half- 
fierce  constraint  with  which  she  turned  instinctively  to 
meet  these  enemies.  Sarah  bowed  rather  coldly,  but 
Aunt  Charlotte  came  forward  at  once  with  a  proffered 
hand. 

"My  sister,"  murmured  his  Grace.  In  his  eyes  was  a 
certain  humor  and  perhaps  a  spice  of  malice. 

For  a  moment  speech  was  impossible.  The  girl  looked 
slowly  from  one  to  the  other,  and  then  suddenly  it  came 
upon  her  that  these  people  were  old  and  hard  hit.  She 
felt  a  curious  revulsion  of  feeling.  Their  surrender  was 

300 


EVERYTHING  FOR  THE  BEST 

unconditional,  and  woman's  sixth  sense  told  her  what 
their  thoughts  must  be.  They  must  be  suffering  horribly. 
All  at  once  the  fight  went  out  of  her. 

In  a  fashion  rather  odd,  with  almost  the  naivete  of  a 
child,  she  turned  aside  in  a  deadly  fight  with  tears,  that 
she  managed  to  screw  back  into  her  eyes. 

It  was  left  to  Lady  Wargrave  to  break  a  silence  which 
threatened  to  become  bitterly  embarrassing :  "Come  over 
here  and  talk  to  me,"  she  said  with  a  directness  the  girl 
was  quick  to  obey. 

Lady  Wargrave  led  the  way  to  a  couple  of  empty 
chairs  near  a  window,  Mary  following  with  a  kind  sick 
timidity  she  had  never  felt  before,  and  a  heart  that 
beat  convulsively.  What  could  the  old  dragon  have  to 
say  to  her?  Even  now  she  half  expected  a  talon. 

The  Dowager  pointed  to  a  chair,  sat  down  grimly,  and 
then  said  abruptly,  "I  hope  you  will  be  happy." 

There  was  something  in  the  words  that  threw  the 
girl  into  momentary  confusion.  The  fact  was  a  miracle 
had  occurred  and  her  bewilderment  was  seeking  a  rea- 
son for  it.  Only  one  explanation  came  to  her,  and  it 
was  that  these  great  powers,  rather  than  suffer  Jack  to 
depart,  were  ready  to  make  the  best  of  his  fiancee.  There 
was  not  much  comfort  in  the  theory,  but  no  other  was 
feasible.  Place  and  power,  it  seemed,  were  caught  in 
meshes  of  their  own  weaving.  And  yet  bruised  in  pride 
as  she  was  by  a  situation  for  which  she  was  not  to  blame, 
the  rather  splendid  bearing  of  these  old  hard-bitten  war- 
riors touched  a  chivalry  far  down.  Deep  called  unto 
deep.  At  the  unexpected  words  of  the  griffin,  she  had 
again  to  screw  the  tears  back  into  her  eyes.  And  then 
she  said  in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  be  stifling  her,  "It's 

301 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


not  my  fault.  I  didn't  know  ...  I  didn't  want  this  .  .  . 
If  you  will  ...  If  you  will  help  me  I  will  do  my  best 
...  not  ...  to  ..." 

The  eyes  of  the  Dowager  searched  her  right  through. 

"No,  you  are  not  to  blame,"  she  said  judicially.  "We 
are  all  going  to  help  you,"  and  then  in  a  voice  which 
cracked  in  the  middle  she  added,  to  her  own  surprise, 
"my  dear." 

in 

At  luncheon  the  girl  had  the  place  of  honor  at  the 
right  hand  of  his  Grace.  It  was  a  rather  chastened  as- 
sembly. The  arrival  of  the  cuckoo  in  the  nest  was  a 
fitting  climax  to  Muriel.  Both  episodes  were  felt  to  be 
buffets  of  a  wholly  undeservedly  severity;  they  might 
even  be  said  to  have  shaken  a  sublime  edifice  to  its  base. 
Not  for  a  moment  had  the  collective  wisdom  of  the 
Dinneford  ladies  connived  at  Muriel's  Breadth,  nor  had 
it  in  any  way  countenanced  the  absurd  fellow  Jack  in  his 
infatuation  for  a  chorus  girl. 

Simple  justice,  however,  compelled  these  stern  critics 
to  own  that  Bridport's  future  duchess  had  come  as  a 
rather  agreeable  surprise.  She  differed  so  much  from 
the  person  they  had  expected.  They  couldn't  deny  that 
she  was  a  personality.  Moreover,  there  was  a  force,  a 
distinction  that  might  hope  to  mold  and  even  harmonize 
with  her  place  in  the  table  of  precedence.  So  good  were 
her  manners  that  the  subtle  air  of  the  great  world  might 
one  day  be  hers. 

It  amazed  them  to  see  the  effect  she  had  already  had 
on  their  fastidious  and  difficult  parent.  He  was  talking 
to  her  of  men  and  events  and  times  past  in  a  way  he 

302 


EVERYTHING  FOR  THE  BEST 

had  not  talked  for  years.  He  discoursed  of  the  great 
ones  of  his  youth,  the  singers  and  dancers  of  the  'Sixties 
when  he  was  at  the  Embassy  at  Paris  and  ginger  was  hot 
in  the  mouth.  Then  by  a  process  of  gradation  he  went 
on  to  tell  his  old  stories  of  Gladstone  and  Dizzy,  to  dis- 
cuss books  and  politics  and  the  pictures  in  the  Uffizi,  and 
to  cap  with  tales  of  his  own  travels  an  occasional  brief 
anecdote,  wittily  told,  of  her  own  tours  in  America  and 
South  Africa. 

Sarah,  Blanche,  and  Marjorie  could  not  help  feeling 
hostile,  yet  it  was  clear  that  this  remarkable  girl  had  put 
an  enchantment  on  their  father.  While  he  talked  to  her 
the  table,  the  room,  the  people  in  it  seemed  to  pass  be- 
yond his  ken.  Candor  bred  the  thought  that  it  was  not 
to  be  wondered  at,  her  way  of  listening  was  so  delightful. 
The  beautiful  head — it  hurt  them  to  admit  the  fact  yet 
there  it  was — bent  towards  him  in  a  kind  of  loving  rever- 
ence, changing  each  phrase  of  his  into  something  rare 
and  memorable  by  a  receptivity  whose  only  wish  was  to 
give  pleasure  to  a  poor  old  man  struggling  with  a  basin 
of  arrowroot — that  sight  and  the  sense  of  a  presence  alive 
in  every  nerve,  a  voice  of  pure  music,  and  a  face  in- 
capable of  evil:  was  it  surprising  that  a  spell  was  cast 
upon  their  sire?  Take  her  as  one  would  she  was  a  real 
natural  force — an  original  upon  whom  the  fairies  had 
lavished  many  gifts. 

The  family  chieftain  was  renewing  his  youth,  but  only 
Charlotte  understood  why.  In  common  with  the  rest  of 
the  world,  Sarah,  Blanche,  and  Marjorie  were  to  be  kept 
in  ignorance  of  the  truth — for  the  present  at  any  rate. 
But  already  the  Dinneford  ladies  had  taken  further  coun- 
sel of  the  sage  of  Hill  Street,  and  upon  her  advice  all 

303 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


thought  of  secession  from  Bridport  House  had  been 
given  up.  Reflection  had  convinced  Lady  Wargrave,  now 
in  possession  of  the  light,  that  the  true  interests  of  the 
Family  would  be  served  by  silence  and  submission.  After 
all,  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  an  old  and  valued  retainer ;  her 
integrity  was  beyond  question;  her  devotion  and  single- 
minded  regard  for  their  father's  welfare  ought  not  to  be 
forgotten ! 

Taking  all  the  circumstances  into  account,  it  was  in 
Aunt  Charlotte's  opinion,  a  case  for  humble  pie.  And  to 
do  the  ladies  no  injustice  they  were  ready  to  consume  it 
gracefully.  Jack,  after  all,  was  quite  a  distant  connec- 
tion; and  what  was  even  more  important  in  their  sight, 
the  girl  herself  was  presentable.  Their  father,  at  any 
rate,  made  no  secret  of  the  fact  that  he  found  her  sympa- 
thetic. Nay,  he  was  even  a  little  carried  away  by  her. 
As  the  meal  went  on,  his  manner  towards  her  almost 
verged  upon  affection;  and  at  the  end,  in  open  defiance 
of  his  doctors,  he  went  to  the  length  of  wishing  her 
happiness  in  a  glass  of  famous  Madeira. 

IV 

At  five  minutes  past  three  Mary  and  Jack  awoke  with 
a  start  from  a  dream  fantasy,  to  find  themselves  breath- 
ing the  ampler  air  of  Park  Lane.  Even  then  they  could 
not  quite  grasp  the  meaning  of  all  that  had  happened. 
Unconditional  surrender  indeed,  yet  so  sudden,  so  cause- 
less, so  mysterious.  Why  had  this  strange  thing  come 
to  be? 

But  just  now  they  were  not  in  a  mood  to  question 
the  inscrutable  wisdom  of  the  good  God.  Behind  the 
curtain  of  appearances  the  sun  shone  more  bravely  than 

304 


EVERYTHING  FOR  THE  BEST 

ever,  the  dust  of  July  lay  a  shade  lighter  on  the  trees 
across  the  road.  No,  there  was  really  no  need  for  Provi- 
dence to  give  an  account  of  itself  at  that  moment;  the 
nature  of  things  called  for  no  analysis. 

"I've  fallen  in  love  with  that  old  man." 

Even  if  Jack  heard  the  words  he  was  not  in  a  position 
to  offer  comment  upon  them,  for  he  was  in  the  act  of 
summoning  a  taxi  from  the  lee  of  the  Park  railings. 

"Where  shall  we  go?" 

"To  the  moon  and  back  again?" 

"And  why  not !  It  is  not  very  far  to  the  moon  if  you 
get  hold  of  the  right  kind  of  vehicle.  But  MX  54,906 
proved  on  inspection  hardly  to  be  adapted  for  the  pur- 
pose; at  any  rate  Jack  came  to  the  conclusion  after  a 
mere  glance  at  the  tires  that  Hampton  Court,  via  Rich- 
mond and  Elysium,  would  meet  the  case  equally  well. 


Meanwhile  his  Grace  in  his  favorite  chair  in  his 
favorite  room,  was  doing  his  best  to  envisage  "The 
Outlook  for  Democracy,"  with  the  aid  of  the  Quarterly 
Review.  Of  a  sudden  the  clock  on  the  chimneypiece 
chimed  a  quarter  past  three,  and  he  laid  down  an  article 
perfect  alike  in  form,  taste  and  scholarship,  with  the  air 
of  one  who  expects  something  to  happen. 

Something  did  happen.  In  almost  the  same  moment, 
the  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Sanderson,  came  into  the  room. 
She  carried  a  tray  containing  a  glass,  a  spoon,  and  a 
bottle. 

His  Grace  shook  his  head.  "I've  had  a  glass  of 
Madeira." 

"How  could  you  be  so  unwise!"  It  was  the  gentle, 
305 


THE  TIME  SPIRIT 


half-smiling  tone  of  a  mother  who  reproves  a  very  dear 
but  willful  child. 

She  measured  the  draught  inflexibly  and  he  drank 
it  like  a  man.  As  he  returned  the  glass  to  the  tray  he 
sighed  a  little,  and  then  with  a  whimsical  glance  upwards 
he  said  slowly  and  softly,  "She  has  her  mother's  brains." 

As  she  looked  down  upon  him,  he  saw  the  color  dark- 
ening a  strong  and  beautiful  face.  "And  her  father's 
eyes."  The  warmth  of  her  voice  almost  stifled  the  words. 

For  nearly  a  minute  there  was  so  deep  a  silence  that 
even  the  clock  on  the  chimneypiece  was  lost  in  it.  And 
then  very  slowly  and  gently,  as  one  who  thinks  aloud, 
he  said,  "I  am  trying  to  remember  those  words  of  Mil- 
ton." He  closed  his  eyes  with  a  smile  of  perplexity. 
"Ah,  yes,  yes.  I  have  them  now : 

"  'He  for  God  only,  she  for  God  in  him.' " 

(i) 


A    000129078    2 


